


Renascence

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Disability, Don't copy to another site, Families of Choice, Gen, Medical Procedures, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, for androids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 100,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: It's been a year since the peaceful android revolution, and while the situation has somewhat settled down finally, some things aren't done changing yet - and as the core-duo of newly established Android Crimes Division, it's Hank's and Connor's problem to deal with most of those changes.
Comments: 1143
Kudos: 2064





	1. Hank

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by nimadge, many thanks

It'd been a year, and Hank had only just started getting used to the weirdness of android crimes. Not, that is to say, crimes committed _on_ androids – those generally follow the same banal style, be it hate crime, sex crime, or general everyday human bullshit, those have already gotten so damn repetitive as to get fucking tiresome. Humans in general haven't changed, even if some of them have brand new illegal target to beat up.

But crimes committed _by_ androids, once they have really come to their own, are… inhuman. Not cruel or particularly nasty, but simply the sort of crimes humans wouldn't think to do, necessarily, because the urges are completely different. And sure there were the normal sort, theft, murder, mayhem, all the good stuff. But then there was the _other_ stuff.

With humans you don't have to worry about a human hunting down other humans in order to chop off their limbs to add them into themselves to form a sort of multi-limbed horror monster. They'd seen that one three months after the revolution, a former WE300 android turned into a human spider, because being bound by human body restraints was inadequate and androids shouldn't be confined to what humans considered most efficient. Trying to deal with the aftermath of that was something else – there was a whole redistribution of stolen limbs, it was weird.

You also don't have to worry about a human integrating themselves into the automated systems of a construction site in order to take it over to try and create… whatever it was that the WR400 had been trying to create. The net called it the _ark,_ and there's still wild speculation going on. The WR400 completely mangled his own body to do the rewiring, and in the end they hadn't been able to untangle the android from the system – and something about putting a computer server into prison was just… it smacked of ridiculousness.

A human might hack an automated system, sure – but so far humans hadn't yet figured how to upload their consciousness into self-driving vehicles – androids, after one of them figured out how to do it, had made it their version of joyriding. Just hop out of your body and into a cab and go speeding down the wrong way on a highway. They had few deaths that way, human and android both, before they started patching up those holes in the firewalls. Still happened, and it was still messed up and weird and unique to androids.

And Hank was damn happy he didn't have to deal with the android that momentarily hijacked the systems of the space station, that was a shit show and no mistake.

But after a while, he'd started to get a hang of it. Androids, testing limits, going overboard, getting messed up – not that different from humans doing the same, they just had different means and different triggers. And with the laws still only marginally even _thought of_ , they didn't have much restraint to their brand of weirdness. How do you even deal with someone who stole a state of the art artificial _tiger_ and decided to turn themselves into a tiger-android… centraur-thing?

Android self-expression, man.

"Makes me miss having to deal with just the homicide," Hank mutters, not for the first time. But no, there was a new department, first in the nation, Android Crimes Division, and he just happened to be the sad sack of shit who had to deal with it.

"Well, one can't say it's boring," Connor says, placing a cup of coffee beside him. "What's on the docket today, Lieutenant?"

Hank huffs and reaches for the cup, waving to the screen – three times as big as his old one, because _upgrades, people, upgrades_. "Weird activity at what was supposed to be an abandoned building. Someone went in, had a look, found androids and got freaked out and made a report. Your usual thing," he says. "Did us a favour of taking pictures, though."

Connor hums, sitting on the edge of his table to look – still doing those human gestures, even though he could just download the files into his brain. "Well," he says.

Hank hums in agreement, leaning back.

In the image there are three androids standing on pedestals – none of them matching any of the standard models, though they're obviously been built up on CyberLife designs, judging by the one in the front, which has their skin turned off. All the androids are male, outwardly, but Hank knows that doesn't really mean anything these days. Half of the androids he knows – personally, these days, because he knows more androids than human people, it feels like – don't even conform to gender anymore. Still, if the other two matched the first, then they had CyberLife bodies with… modifications.

There is a web of wires running between the three androids, connecting them to each other by their temples – and the one in the middle with its skin turned off has eyes that glow faintly yellow.

"Why are we not going there, Lieutenant?" Connor asks curiously. "This looks like something right up our alley."

"It is – the site is being secured," Hank agrees, scratching at his chin. "And we're gonna head over there. I'm just…" he sighs. "Jurisdiction."

"Ah," Connor says, understanding. "Modified, potentially uninitialised androids, maybe even homemade ones. Depending on the state of things, this might be Jericho's jurisdiction."

"Well, we still got the first go, as per usual," Hank muses. "Still, I'm thinking we need a consult for this one, just in case. Think you can call up someone?"

"You could call yourself."

"Yeah, but it's so much faster when you do it." Connor doesn't have to go through all the bullshit of actually _talking_ to people. And getting through to the big shots at Jericho is a pain even at the best of times, these days – even with his reputation, Hank is usually on hold for at least half an hour.

Connor smiles and then looks away, his eyelids fluttering as he sends a message to someone, his eyes going all vacant. Then he blinks. "Simon is free and happy to offer his assistance in this matter," he says and reaches over to touch the panel of Hank's computer. "I am sending him the address – he will meet us there in twenty minutes."

"Great," Hank says and sits up, taking the coffee cup with him. "Let's go."

* * *

The abandoned house isn't so much a house as it is a mansion. It's just on the edge of North Corktown, in the area not quite within the construction zone, but close enough that the building had been zoned for demolition which had then never been carried out. Damn pity that, Hank can't help but think – the place is a monstrosity of a McMansion, and it was painted lurid salmon sometime in its past. Been a while since he'd seen a building so ugly.

The place has been cordoned off with police holograms and there are three officers keeping the perimeter clear – not that it's particularly necessary, there's only four civilians anywhere near and they're all kids who look mostly bored about the whole thing.

"What do we have?" Hank asks, Connor close at his heels, as they approach the house.

"Well, sir, for once… no blood, so, _yay_ ," Lee says – a former cyber crime tech and Hank's first hire in the Android Department. "Bit weird, though – not on the level of the Spider Lady, but weird. The androids are in the main living room – right this way…"

The house is not precisely empty – it looks lived in, with furniture and various bags and boxes in the kitchen. The main living room, which takes up most of the first floor it looks like, has been cleared of your usual living room furniture, to make place for the pedestals and for the tables where various computers sit – some of them pretty old looking.

"We haven't touched anything yet, haven't booted anything up," Lee says, taking out a tablet. "But it's safe to say that they're all pre-initialisation – no heartbeat, no thirium flow, all their components are still in a pre-start-up state. Just waiting for that jolt to send the blue blood flowing."

"So, they're really brand new," Hank murmurs, stepping closer to look at the one in the middle. It's a tall one, slightly taller than Hank is, though much skinnier. Hard to tell about the features, with the skin turned off, but they got high cheekbones and decent sized nose, if nothing else – bit of a rarity with androids, they all tend to swing towards the prettier side of average.

"More than that, Lieutenant," Connor says. "Android systems are generally pre-initialised on the factory lines – or they were, before the Revolution – and after that first start up, their thirium pumps will keep on functioning without pause until something forcibly stops it. These androids were either stolen off CyberLife factory lines, or they were never in one to begin with."

"Yeah, figured as much," Hank agrees, glancing at the android's chest. There's no serial number there, no text whatsoever. "You getting any kind of identification, on any of them?"

Connor looks from one android to the other two, spending slightly longer on the ones with skin and hair. They all look a _little_ similar, so their bodies under the skins are probably the same, but there are differences in facial features, hair, skin tone.

For some reason, they both have a scar encoded into their skins, cutting through their lips.

"No, sorry, lieutenant. None of them come up on any of the databases I can access," Connor says. "I suspect their features are completely custom, or at least modified, and based on no living people on file."

"Right," Hank hums and then looks at Lee. "Have you gone through any of the other rooms yet, found anything?"

"Nothing useful, but we've not really started combing the area yet," Lee says.

"Get to it, but don't tamper with anything – we've got a consultant from Jericho en route, we'll wait on him and do this by the new book," Hank says and with a nod Lee scurries off, probably to fetch his scanners. Hank looks after him and then glances at Connor. "Well, we might as well take a look around too, while we wait. Lemme know if you figure anything out."

"Will do, Lieutenant."

Hank takes a moment to watch Connor getting into his element – LED flickering as he begins scanning and probably reconstructing the area. In five minutes flat they'd have the potential perp's habits and personal ticks on file, probably, along with body type and hair colour – or, if they were an android, a model number. And if it took Connor any longer to figure out what the hell is going on here, Hank would eat his shirt.

Shaking his head, Hank turns to head to the kitchen, to check the trash there. Glance into the nearest one points towards human – androids generally don't get takeout. Not much else to be found in the kitchen, just a lot of takeout and a fridge full of energy drinks. Pulling all-nighters?

The bathroom has been used, but the shower has dust on the floor, so, either the perp didn't shower in this particular bathroom, or they didn't sleep in the house at all. Would make sense, since there was no one to be found here.

"We got someone checking the area, right?" Hank asks Osbert, who is watching the door. "This doesn't look like a place you leave for long – might be our perp is watching."

"Yes, sir," the android answers. "Cadence is on it, but I will send her a message, telling her to take extra caution."

"Good man," Hank says and then considers the android. "Trying on a new haircut?" he asks then, curious. Osbert's hair is bright, CyberLife blue.

"A social experiment, sir," Osbert answers, mild as milk – which basically means someone likely made a comment, and now the android is collecting data on various reactions such obvious reference to android origins would get…or something along those lines.

Another thing androids are big on – weird little social experiments on human reactions. Hank should know, every android of his baby-department is running at least a handful different experiments. Some of them are on him.

You get used to it, after a while.

"Right. Well, it suits you," Hank says, patting the guy on the shoulder. "But watch it before Fowler tries to impose a dress code on us again. More than he already has."

"Will do, sir."

Smiling a little, Hank returns to Connor, who is sizing the un-initiated androids up, hand on his chin as he thinks. A brand new human gesture, that – wonder who he picked it up from. "So, lay it out to me," Hank says. "What happened?"

"There is remarkably little in the way of surface evidence," Connor admits. "Though the age of these computers concerns me. The androids themselves are brand new, as we already found out – though they have been thoroughly modified, I think I have been able to identify their general design at least. I'm 96% certain they are all AC branch androids, though I can't quite make the exact model number – sports and healthcare assistant models," Connor clarifies. "Designed to work as personal fitness coaches, mainly."

"Okay, good, that's a start, definitely," Hank agrees. "Can you tell me anything about the modifications?"

"Not without more thorough scanners," Connor admits. "But I expect their internal mechanics have been modified to some extent – they are all slightly heavier and slightly taller than the tallest AC model, which tend to cap at 185 centimetres. The one in front without skin is the tallest at 190 centimetres."

"That's vaguely concerning," Hank muses.

"I suspect none of them have CyberLife operating systems," Connor adds, and motions to the computers. "Their internal memory drives are all connected to these computers, likely for an upload procedure of a user interface and personality matrix."

Hank considers the computers, which really look old, like, at least ten years old. "Right, so, sports androids and ancient programming. That's – hm. Trying to avoid deviancy by using older software?" he muses.

"Perhaps," Connor agrees and looks at him. "There is something else, Hank – CyberLife androids in this stage of construction are _extremely_ delicate. Before the first initialization of a thirium flow, all android components are subject to any number of failures – to run any of those components dry would cause catastrophic breakdown on most of them."

"That something like bleeding out?" Hank asks.

"More like being born without blood at all," Connor says. "To initialise these androids even for a fraction of a second would be near instant death. To have stolen them in this state, transported them here, and kept them, still viable and still pre-internalised with no visible damage – never mind that they have been modified…"

"So whoever did this was good."

"Better than good. Android factory lines are calibrated to perfection to avoid any chance of failure," Connor explains and looks up at the bare-skinned android. "To do this, one would have to know CyberLife androids, in and out."

Hank hums. So… a former employee, maybe. That would complicate things, wouldn't it? As if this didn't already look damn complicated.

Connor lifts his chin, his LED flickering. "Simon is here," he says.

"Right," Hank says. "Let's go say hello and see what Jericho's stance on this particular mess is."

* * *

Hank generally likes all of the Big Shots of Jericho – even North, who also kind of seriously concerns him most of the time. As the elected expert of android crime – or at least the designated minder of the expert – he deals with Jericho more than most humans not actively engaged in the politics of Android Emancipation, and so he's gotten to know most of them by name. If he had to pick favourites though…

Simon is a kind of natural de-escalator, Hank's found. Doesn't matter what's going on, Simon calms the mood down just by being there. He's also kind of a testament to how different androids can really be – as a PL600 he comes from one of the most common varieties of android, you could even call them the _common average_. Simon's personality is very much not average for androids though.

He's one of the most _human_ guys Hank has ever met – so human that Hank kind of expects him to bleed red. Simon apparently has a faulty temperature regulator or something like that, which means he runs under optimal temperatures, which means he dresses up more warmly – and there's just no way you can look at this guy, who looks like he's cold and acts like he's cold and is usually wearing cuddly clothes, and not feel a whole damn bucketful of empathy. Watching him makes Hank want to knit sweaters, it's ridiculous.

"What do you have for us this time, Lieutenant?" Simon asks with a soulful smile and offers his hand for a shake.

"Something new," Hank says and takes the hand, shaking it as firmly as he dares to. He knows android bones are sturdier than human bones, but still… "Always something new around here – nothing bloody, though, so don't worry. Just a bit weird and concerning."

"Three pre-initialised, likely stolen androids, with non-standard UI uploads," Connor says. "Modified AC models."

"That sounds promising," Simon says and offers his hand to Connor too. They exchange a more android-like handshake – which isn't really a handshake at all, their palms barely touch. But their palms also peel back their skins for contact, so… it's probably more significant than a regular old human handshake.

Hank is still not entirely sure if it's an _intimate_ gesture or not. The public romanticises it a lot, but at the same time androids use it like this too, as greeting… and at this point Hank is almost too embarrassed to ask.

"Right this way, then," he says, and after Simon and Connor are done with their exchange – and Simon has nodded to the android cops present – leads the man to the living room.

"Oh my," Simon muses, taking in the scene. "Well, this is – not actually that new."

"There's been illegal, uh… hijacking of androids before?" Hank asks, frowning.

"We've run into a few incidents of people trying to factory reset and jailbreak androids," Simon admits and holds his hands up placatingly. "They were cases in other cities, not in Detroit, which is likely why you haven't heard of them. They were dealt with by local law enforcement, with Jericho offering consultation and oversight. This is the first time in Detroit, since the Revolution."

"Well. Fuck," Hank says. "Would've been nice to know there was a precedent. Connor?"

"I will put in a request for the files for you," Connor agrees.

"I wouldn't worry – those were unique, unrelated cases, involving already initialised models and the perpetrators were caught. I can already tell this is something different," Simon muses and looks at the computers. "Do you mind?"

"Be my guest," Hank says, motioning him to go right ahead. "Figure you know how to handle this better than we do."

"I can only hope," Simon says and sits down, Connor leaning in to watch as he powers the computers up. There's two of them – an old desktop and a laptop. They both open to a code screen, demanding a password.

"Hmm," Simon hums and looks at Connor. "My hacking capabilities aren't exactly military level," he says thoughtfully, meaningully.

"Do I have your authorisation to proceed, Lieutenant?" Connor asks, already reaching for his pocket.

"Risk assessment?"

Connor hesitates. "There is a high chance of an unknown issue presenting itself as some kind of security measure, but only 13.4% chance of it having any effect on my systems."

Hank presses his lips together. He doesn't like those odds, but he generally doesn't like any odds that are higher than 0, when it comes to potential risks. "Hmm," he answers dubiously.

"It's a 86.6% success rate on my end," Connor clarifies, as if Hank can't flip percentages too.

"I think the risk is negligible," Simon adds. "The processors of these computers are rather old, and Connor should be able to shut down any harmful transfers before they have any chance of unpacking. Even I am thousands of times faster than a laptop from 2020's."

"And we need to think of the safety and security of those androids," Connor adds, nodding to the three uninitialised androids. "They are innocent in this, potentially victims, and the sooner we know what has been done to them, the better, surely."

Hank sighs. They're both giving him the eyes. "Alright, alright, if you two wiz kids think it's the best, safest way to proceed, then… proceed away," he says. "But Connor, pull the plug the moment you feel something's iffy, alright?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," Connor says, and takes out the USB cable wrapping the band of it around his palm and peeling back his skin, before hooking the cable into the laptop. While Simon turns back to the screen, Connor takes a breath and then his eyes go hazy and his eyelids flicker.

Hank folds his arms and watches the process closely. Not that he can actually see much. Connor's lashes flutter and then he says, "There," and the code on the computer screen begins scrolling down. "Hm. The firewall on the system is as old as the computer – it has been updated occasionally, but the computer hasn't been online for more than… a decade, longer than. The files…"

"They're pre-CyberLife," Simon murmurs. "These are dated back to – _2012_?"

Hank blinks and leans in. He can't understand a line of code, himself – but he can read dates with the best of them. "That's before AI – before actualised AI with personalities?" he asks.

"It is, yes," Simon agrees, frowning as he reads the code. "Hmm… I don't know this programming language. Admittedly, I haven't updated my databanks in a few weeks, but – Connor, do you know what language this is?"

"No, but the system reads it as _Animus_DDNA_Helix_code_ ," Connor answers, his eyes a little vacant as he reads through the code in his head, probably. "It's all a single program – a single file, which has been portioned into three segments. According to the data logs, they were uploading different segments into different bodies. The one in front was going to be receiving the lion's share of the code."

Hank looks at the one without skin, humming. "Riight," he says, increasingly dubious about the whole thing. "And what exactly is there on the file, then?"

"I – am not sure," Connor admits. "The file is – it's compact, but there's a lot of it and I can't read it. The computer can't read it, either, it's only storing it."

Simon eyes the code with a worried frown. "I can't tell if it's an UI, or personality matrix, or… what it is. Connor, how far along is the transfer?"

"76.325%," Connor admits, making a face.

"Past the threshold, then," Simon murmurs and looks up at Hank. "The legal proceedings are still ongoing and nothing is written in stone, but it'll likely be canonised as law within the next two months. If there is a chance that program is an AI, and if that program is in the middle of a transfer and a majority of it has been transferred – as in, most of it has been moved from one body to another, or _copied_ … then the new receptacle must be considered alive in the eyes of the law until proven otherwise. We can't stop the transfer – in fact, I think we might have to finish it."

Hank blinks at that and tries to parse what he just said. "So… uh," he stops there, before he says something insensitive and probably stupid. "Okay, does it have to be now, right in this second, or can it wait for further investigation?" Or for him to call for a backup, in case the new guys turned into Terminators…

"The transfer is on pause, but it can't be kept on hold forever," Connor says warningly.

"But we should get some specialists here, just in case," Simon muses. "I need to call Markus and the others, get their opinion on this. Turns out this is a bit of a new one, even for us."

"Okay, great, good. Shall we say, two hours?" Hank asks.

Simon nods and stands up. "Two hours," he agrees. "Connor."

"Simon," Connor nods, and they watch the man step aside, to communicate with the others.

"Well," Hank says and looks up at the AC androids. "Right, okay. One of those days, huh. And here I thought this one looked easy."

"Never a dull moment," Connor says cheerfully. "Should I call my brother?"

"I think you better," Hank agrees and sighs. "And I'll… call Fowler, and get the shouting over and done with, before getting us some backup. Don't lick anything while I'm gone."

"Lieutenant, I would never."

"Just _don't_."

Connor smiles and with a shake of his head Hank pulls out his phone, to make the call.


	2. Connor

Connor always feels a sense of _smug satisfaction_ when he sees Nines, especially if it happens to be in the vicinity of his partner, Gavin Reed. There are 12 RK800 models in total, but only one RK900, and at Connor's suggestion, he'd been invited to join Detroit Police Department – and quickly proved himself an exemplary homicide detective. He and Reed got on like a house on fire, and if anyone asked, Connor might be the one throwing gasoline on the flames every now and then. They are entertaining to watch, and with Reed busy stirring shit with Nines, he isn't arguing with anyone else.

Point of fact, they're arguing now, Reed nattering on about coffee while Nines doesn't quite roll his eyes, stepping through the police barrier and into the crime scene.

So Connor dares to pat himself on the back a little, privately.

RK900 is not only an excellent restraining influence on Detective Reed, however – he's also the most advanced model CyberLife managed to produce, both in computing and in physical prowess, and he'd taken a personal interest in certain types of android cases. Though he'd, somewhat paradoxically, declined the invitation to the Android Crimes Division, he still kept up with the latest news when it came to android crimes. He also had a keen personal interest in _crimes of programming,_ as they were somewhat loosely titled – androids being hacked, jailbroken, reprogrammed, manipulated. Something about his own initial programming, perhaps, or how he was initialised in the middle of the Revolution – whatever it was, he is now DPD's resident expert of hacked androids.

"Connor," Nines greets Connor, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Connor grins while Reed scoffs at them. "Nines. I see you managed to bring a tag-along."

"He needed to be walked – I'm told physical exercise is important for human development," Nines says and his LED whirls with mirth at Reed's noise of affronted disgust.

"Whatever. You tin cans have fun with your racism, I'm going to talk to Anderson," Reed says and flips Connor the bird while walking past him. "Dipshit."

"Detective Reed," Connor nods and then turns to Nines, arching a brow. "He seems to be in a good mood."

"He found very little to complain about in the coffee I got him, I suspect it threw him off his game," Nines admits amusedly and offers Connor his hand.

Connor takes it and then grins – Nines had been winding Reed up for a week by getting him increasingly awful coffee and logging his reactions for future reference – the experiment just came to its conclusion with Nines getting the Detective's favourite, done exactly how he liked. Nines had isolated choice frames of Reed's highly suspicious reaction – they are rather amusing. 

"Why didn't he just get his own coffee?" Connor wonders.

"I believe he was enjoying the experiment – and apparently free coffee is still free coffee," Nines answers and looks at the house with interest. "Have you figured out anything new?"

"No, but I'm hoping your expertise in military encryption might offer some insight to the nature of the code," Connor admits. "Also, fair warning – Markus is here."

Nines visibly hesitates. "Why?"

"They're in the process of writing new laws concerning transfer of AI code and the legality of tampering, hindering or interrupting such transfers – this has the chance of turning into a political issue if wrongly handled," Connor says apologetically. "There was a case in New York concerning an android whose code was being hosted on a temporary server while his body was going through extensive remodeling – a kill switch was hit during the transfer and the code was corrupted. The case was taken into court."

"Ah," Nines vocalises. "Yes, I'm familiar with the case."

Connor pats his shoulder. "I doubt Markus will want to have a heart to heart with you in particular – he's more concerned for the unknown androids. But he's still supervising – I figured you'd want heads-up."

"It's appreciated," Nines agrees and straightens his back before following Connor inside.

There are 11 people on the premises now – most of whom are engaged in trying to figure out how to proceed with the three unknown androids. Markus is there with Simon, standing near and considering the pedestals on which the three androids stand. Though their hands are wound together in an interface, they're talking verbally – likely in respect to the Lieutenant, stranding not two metres away with Detective Reed.

Little new had been learned about the history of the three unknown androids, beyond what Connor had already figured out, and they had nothing on the identity of the person or persons behind this, aside from the fact that they are likely vegetarian and do not like eating asparagus or broccoli, as those were bits of food often discarded in their takeout. They were also very careful about leaving identifying evidence behind. The laptops are clean but for the programs in them, and every surface of the house that had been used has been cleaned. _Every_ surface. Connor had gone over the kitchen and bathroom thoroughly, and the complete lack of DNA evidence was almost impressive. Someone had eaten here and used the toilet – and, going by the evidence, cleaned after themselves with _disinfectant_ every time.

So whoever it was, they were either compulsive about hygiene – unlikely, since places in the house not in use had been left uncleaned – or more likely their DNA was in the system.

Connor watches as Nines walks over to the computers, Officer Lee jumping out of the way to give him room. Nines doesn't pause to ask for authorisation – he just takes out a cable and connects with the laptop, immediately beginning to screen through the code. It catches the eye of Markus and Simon, both of whom turn to watch.

Connor goes to them, to smooth any possible ruffled feathers. "RK900 is our expert on illicitly manipulated androids – and on unusual code," he says. "If anyone can figure out the programming involved, he can."

"So I have heard," Markus agrees, releasing Simon's hand and folding his arms. Looking up to the unknown androids he sighs. "This used to be easier when I could just touch a fellow android and wake them up," he muses. "Things have gotten so complicated, haven't they?"

"That's a good thing – it means we're making progress," Simon says. "Life and liberty are nuanced things _._ "

"I know, I know," Markus agrees. "Life is complex, and so are laws. Still, you can't help but wish we could put this part behind us already – it's been a year, and people are still trying to find loopholes to re-enslave us."

"Is that what you think this is?" Connor asks curiously. "Someone trying to find a loophole?"

"The most recent writing of the UN concerning androids only grants rights to AIs _of certain complexity_ created by four specific android manufacturing companies," Markus says grimly. "We're in the works of getting it altered as soon as possible, but it's going to take a while. A homemade AI, especially if it turns out less complex, less _human_..."

...might not have rights. Connor nods in understanding. "Well, I don't envy your task, Markus, I can say that much – but we will do everything we can to do right by these three, no matter what their legal status is."

"Thank you, Connor," Markus says and his heterochromatic eyes move to Nines, who's just lifted his head.

"Animus," Nines says, flat, reciting something. "Animus was a failed VR gaming console from mid 2010's, which ran from 2013 through 2015 and ultimately was discontinued, with only meagre numbers sold due to high retail price, funding issues, bad marketing and numerous lawsuits concerning alleged mental distress suffered by the users, which caused severe damage to the reputation of Abstergo Entertainment and eventually led to its bankruptcy."

There's a moment of silence before Lieutenant Anderson says, wry, "You're not saying someone tried to upload a _game file_ into these boys?"

Nines blinks mechanically at him, his LED pulsing blue. "I'm only stating the closest likely source for this code. It is unlike any commercial, public or military programming language on current record."

Connor does a quick search on Animus and Abstergo Entertainment and… gets back very little. Mostly news articles from the time, and even they are so old that the image files are missing and the articles themselves are woefully lacking in detail. Considering how big the parent company is, Abstergo Entertainment hadn't left much of a mark on history after its failure – aside from various memes about a pharmaceutical company trying to get into gaming.

"I don't know if these files are related," Nines admits. "But I believe the Animus console's gamefiles also had a _ddna_ file extension."

"Where did you find that out – I can't find anything about it online," Connor admits, frowning.

"A cold case file concerning a former Abstergo employee – a piece of evidence was a printed sheet of code," Nines admits and glances at Lieutenant Anderson. "I think this code might indeed be a game file. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, Lieutenant."

"Sheesh," Hank says, running a hand down his face and then turning to Markus. "Well, I think this might be your call. What do you want to do, sir?"

Markus hums, looking at the uninitialised androids. "Someone stole them and attempted to program them for a reason," he says grimly. "I think the best way we have to figure out why is to finish the process. I say we let the transfer finish."

Nines looks at Hank, who, after a moment of chewing on it, nods. "Reinitialising transfer," he says and there's a thrum of the laptop fans going as the process starts up again. Before them, the middle android's eyes begin to glow yellow, again.

They wait, the humans holding their breaths.

"It's going to take 4 hours and 53 minutes to finish the upload," Nines informs them wryly while taking off the cable. "And after that, the installation might take even longer."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Reed mutters. "We are not waiting here for five damn hours for a bunch of Ken dolls to come out of hibernation."

"How large are the files?" Markus asks interestedly.

"In total 8.536 petaflops," Nines says and turns away. "It's not the size of the file that's the problem – it's the technology used. It is rather outdated, practically vintage, which rather begs the question where did these computers even come from, never mind with memory capacity of this kind. Technology from 2012 wasn't known for its expansive data storage capacities."

Officer Lee perks up at that, snapping his fingers. "I was wondering about that too. I kinda wanna crack these drives open and see what makes them tick," he says excitedly and then shrinks as they all turn to stare at him. "I mean – obviously I _won't_ while the program's running, but, you know… later. Once the souls of three androids aren't stuck inside. Ahem. No offense meant."

Nines sighs. "In either case," he says to Markus. "This will take some time."

"Ah," Markus says and glances at Hank. "Well, I hope you don't mind if I kill time by doing some work in the meantime – I have proposals to write, among other things."

"Be our guest, sir," Hank says and while Reed begins trying to wheedle Nines to leave, Hank turns to Connor. "We have to wait here, don't we?"

"I'll put in the order for some food and coffee," Connor offers. "And see about the business from which our suspect ordered their food from – maybe one of them uses human or android delivery people, rather than drones, and saw the individual in person."

"Good idea," Hank agrees and then gives him a look. "And no damn salads, Connor, you hear? I've had it with salads. Order me actual food."

"Of course, Lieutenant," Connor promises, and taking a leaf from Nines' book, orders the man a completely vegetarian dish instead.

* * *

Connor uses the time to finish the few reports he had yet to finish, and then scans the net for new articles. Markus and Simon have taken seats in the kitchen and are completely lost in their work, hands clasped as they mentally work through the no doubt mountainous amount of paperwork that's involved with being the leader of free androids. Reed and Nines had left for the time being, though Nines said he'd at least be back for the start-up sequence, expressing curiosity as to how the programming would manifest.

The Lieutenant, Connor suspects, is bored, poking around the house for a while before taking a seat beside Connor and grumbling, "Must be nice being your own computer, your own desk, being able to just sit down and boom, that's good enough for an office."

"Perhaps," Connor muses, looking to Markus and Simon, their eyes closed and their heads bent nearly together. "I would never disparage the importance of a real office, however. Having a specific space for work is… beneficial in many ways."

"Uh-huh – but you don't need it," Hank says, pulling out a tablet. "So what's your read on the situation – aside from the obvious?"

Connor looks to the three androids, still standing upon pedestals, still trapped in a spider web of wires. "I am concerned about how little we know," Connor admits. "And the skill and level of care taken in hiding the perpetrator's trail. There is nothing here to identify them, they were obsessively thorough. The only things I know for sure are their fast food eating habits, that they drink too many energy drinks, and that they are highly knowledgeable about robotics and possibly also programming."

"That's already a lot," Hank comments.

"And yet not enough to narrow it down," Connor says with a sigh. "So many people are looking into robotics now."

"CyberLife is still holding patents, though, and it's not just anyone who can access half finished android models," Hank says. "How long would you say the perp has been using this house?"

Connor considers the evidence he'd gathered. "No more than two months," he says. "Going by the dust buildup where they initially cleaned and then ceased to bother. There is also increased garbage disposal traffic in this area from that time."

"Two months, right," Hank says and taps something to his tablet before handing it over. "Active CyberLife personnel from two months ago."

Connor blinks and downloads the list. "It's over 6000 people long, Lieutenant."

"Filter by people who have access to manufacture, and known knowhow about robotics," Hank says and folds his arms. "Should narrow things down."

"Hm. And what of the fact that CyberLife shouldn't be producing androids, at all, in this time?" Connor asks. "They only have the legal permission to produce individual components, not full android bodies."

"You can build a car from parts if you have all the parts," Hank points out. "Same with androids, I figure. Might be how they were safely transported too – brought in pieces and compiled here."

Connor hadn't even considered it. "You might be right, Lieutenant," he admits.

Hank grins. "Still got something going for me, huh?"

"It would be considerably easier – as well as riskier. Several small thefts over a longer period of time carry with them an increased number of chances of being caught," Connor comments, going through the list of CyberLife employees again.

"But it's still doable, so we can't rule it out," Hank says. "I like it a little better than someone stealing three whole bodies off the assembly lines."

"It could have been done before the Revolution, or during it," Connor suggests. "When CyberLife security was otherwise engaged."

"Otherwise engaged, that's what they call it when a deviant waltzes in and liberates all their stock?"

Connor grins a little at that. "I don't think we can rule it out, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, no. We'll put it down as a _maybe_ until we know more."

Connor makes an internal note of it and then looks up as Lee makes an alarmed noise.

"The progress bar just jumped way ahead!" the officer says.

"Ah, old tech," Hank says and stands up with a stretch. "They used to do that. How far ahead, where are we at?"

"Another hour, sir," Lee says. 

"Well, it might go up too, who knows – let me know if it speeds up all the way to the end, alright? I'm going to stretch out my legs."

Connor considers going with him, but as he wasn't invited it's likely the Lieutenant is also going to relieve himself. Shaking his head, Connor sends Nines the new time estimate and then turns back to the CyberLife employee list and continues to consider potential subjects. None jump out to him, CyberLife has rather strict background checks, and no CyberLife employee has much of a criminal background. Maybe one would have history in the area, they would have to know about the house, after all…

The progress bar has a few more jumps as they wait, skipping from 56 minutes to 43 and then to 24 before stalling there for 9 minutes – and then suddenly showing 135 minutes left on the progress. The first few times it is rather curious, the failure of older technology to provide accurate estimates – few more times and it starts growing irritating. In the end, the original estimated time is almost accurate, as it takes in total 4 hours and 42 minutes for the upload to finish… before the progress gets stuck on 100% for another ten minutes.

Hank finds the whole thing hilarious, laughing uproariously at their frustration as Lee tries not to pull at his hair and Connor begins to wonder if it really was technology of such calibre that eventually led to the creation of androids. "Ah, things got better fast, but yeah, it was slow as hell in the beginning," Hank cackles, sipping from a brand new cup of coffee. "Should tell you about the horrors of dial-up internet, that would really wind you up."

"I am already aware of the history of the internet," Connor answers, distracted by ping from Nines – he and Detective Reed are en route back. "And I know it used to be quite slow in the beginning."

"Slow, he says, hah," Hank mutters and shakes his head. "Anything, Lee?"

"Still stuck on 100% – oh, wait, I think –"

Markus and Simon have joined them too, and like Connor, they recoil a little when the laptop suddenly and unceremoniously goes completely dark.

"Shit," Hank mutters and quickly gets up. "Did it fail – did the upload fail?"

"I don't – it happened on its own, I didn't do anything," Lee says quickly, lifting his hands up to show they weren't anywhere near the keyboard. "It just shut down, I don't –"

Connor steps up to the middle most android on the pedestal, watching their face. Their eyes are partially open and still glowing faintly yellow – a non-standard pair, Connor muses, the eyes are military grade, capable of night vision as well as seeing thermal and infrared – but there is nothing behind them. The androids haven't been initialised yet.

"Do you think the upload finished?" Markus asks, stepping up as well.

"I don't know," Connor admits. "But even if it did, the android will not turn on on its own. It needs to be started up," he says and glances back at Hank.

"What do you say, Markus?" the Lieutenant asks. "It's your call."

"And thus, my responsibility… and my liability," Markus muses, smiling slightly. He and Simon share a look, likely exchanging silent words, before Markus nods. "I think –"

Connor gets the warning just as Lee opens his mouth to say something, and automatically puts himself into analysis mode to buy time. The world around him turns dark as time all but freezes for him, and in that split of a second stretched out artificially, Connor sees two things.

One, the laptop screen is active again, and there is a single line of text on it. ADMIN COMMAND: **RUN**.

Two, the skinless android in front is looking at them and already moving.

Connor analyses their movement – they're reaching for Markus, who is the closest, either to attack or to push him aside. Connor calculates the angle and the force and then constructs his reaction – he would step, push Markus aside, and whatever the attack is, a blow of a push, he'd take it for Markus. The android hasn't moved enough yet for him to calculate their next move, he can only predict less than 2 seconds ahead with as little information as he has, but two seconds are enough to save a life.

Connor mentally chooses _execute_ and steps forward, pushing Markus aside. Then, as a hand grips at his shoulder, he enters analysis mode again.

The android is crouching down, just slightly, knees bent, head forward – he's gripping Connor's shoulder, neither in act of pushing him or pulling him, but _pressing down_. He intends to vault over him – he's already aiming for the door. Hank is between the android and the door. Connor must stop him. He'd grip the wrist, turn, attempt to throw the android over his shoulder, and into the floor.

He exits the analysis mode, grips the wrist, and moves to flip the android down – he begins to execute the manoeuvre, using his and the android's combined momentum, when he feels something else. The android is twisting – moving –

Committed now, Connor runs the move to its conclusion, and watches as the android flips in mid air, and lands on their feet, facing him. His eyes widening, Connor manages to just in time block the punch suddenly coming at his throat – the wrist he's still holding twists in his hold, hand turning to grab his wrist in turn, and in self-defence, Connor enters analysis mode _again_.

The android will attempt to break his wrist, or else use it as a leverage to throw Connor at someone, maybe Markus, maybe Hank. The android has the benefit of height and weight on Connor, and there is something about their wrist that's weird, something about the panels – there's something underneath them Connor can't analyse, but which makes him wary.

Can he kick the android – no, he doesn't have the reach, it would just lose him his footing, and he'd still be engaged with the android's hands. Grab the arm that went for a punch, it would leave his face and throat open for potential head butt. Duck under both arms – yes, that would get him out of reach of both arms, he'd be able to protect his face, and he'd have a clear shot to the android's stomach.

Connor crouches and then punches forward – and the android dances back, swift and agile as Connor quickly realises his mistake. The android isn't trying to _fight_ him necessarily – just get away, as ordered, and Connor just released their hand. In that moment, no longer restrained, with tan skin quickly growing to cover his white chassis, the android whirls around on their bare feet and makes a dash for the door.

"Hey, whoa – " Hank shouts and Connor reaches for his gun – but the android doesn't attack Hank. They grab him, sure, but only to use him for leverage, to _roll over him_ , back to back, and then back to their feet. Split of a second later, with less and less of the white chassis showing under newly growing skin, the android is through the door and outside.

"Shit –" Hank snaps. "Connor!"

"On it!" Connor calls, and runs after them, just catching a sight of a heel rushing through the door and past surprised Osbert who had obviously been knocked aside.

The android is already through the yard and in the driveway by the time Connor makes it to the door – they're standing in front of a startled looking civilian, a boy holding a cellphone. Connor has a moment of alarm – he can see the android pause, scan the surroundings. They could very easily grab the boy, to use him as a hostage – but as they glance back at Connor, the android obviously weighs their options and chooses another. As dark, short hair grows to cover the android's head, they make a sharp turn left, run through the yard, to a fence, and swiftly over it.

Connor runs after them, mimicking their movements.

The android is faster than him, he can tell that already – it's not just the benefit of legs few centimetres longer than his. It's their model too – with Connor some of the more impressive physical attributes had been dialled back to leave both processing power and space for his more useful features – he is still faster than humans, but not quite as fast as athletic model androids, like this one, which had been designed for speed. But not only are they fast, they also seem to know just how to slow him down, knocking over fences and trash cans, and in one case leaving a rake in Connor's way, and then, as the distance between them grows, they suddenly do a sharp turn and –

And Connor loses them.

Just like that, behind the corner of a house with clear view into the opposing yard, Connor completely and utterly loses the trail. He scans quickly, but there's nothing there, not so much as a rustling bush, they didn't cross to the next yard, they didn't climb the fence, it surely would've shaken. They're just… gone.

Connor spends good five minutes scanning the area confusedly, even going as far as to climb a fire-escape to get a more broad view of the area, but there's _nothing_. No footprints, no snapped branches… it is as if they turned and disappeared into thin air.

"What?" Connor murmurs, narrowing his eyes and scanning again, going into analysis mode. There's _nothing_. Somehow, he got outsmarted by a freshly-initiated android with a homemade user interface. He, CyberLife's second most advanced android.

"Shit," Connor mutters and drops down from the fire escape. Then he connects with Osbert and Cadence. [Can you converge on my location, please? I lost the android, but I didn't see or hear them run – they must be hiding here.]

[On my way, Connor,] Osbert answers.

[Shouldn't take a minute, I'm close by,] Cadence agrees.

Blowing out a breath Connor looks around and then calls the Lieutenant's cell phone. "Sorry, Hank, I lost them – but they couldn't have gone far yet. Cadence, Osbert and I will search the area for them. What's the word on the other two, are they coming online as well?"

"No, both of them just collapsed," Hank answers, sounding tense. There are noises in the background, Markus talking, Connor can hear the word _stretcher_ being mentioned. Hank continues, "Markus thinks the one bolting might've interrupted the last bits of their transfers – it pulled all the wires out. They're going to be taken to Jericho for treatment and analysis – I'm going to ride shotgun with Markus. You good to run solo on this one?"

"Should be," Connor says with a grimace. "I'm sorry, Hank, I didn't expect them to react like that – "

"Never mind, Connor, it's not your fault. Just see what you can see – gotta go now. Call me once you got something," Hank says and hangs up.

"Right," Connor murmurs, and looks around for a good spot to begin searching. " _Right_."

Here he is, hunting a runaway android. Some things never change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trickling in the character tags as people come along.


	3. Gavin

"Why do we always fucking miss these things? The moment you turn your eye, damn…"

"Yes it couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that you can't sit still more than 12 minutes and 10 seconds at the time and kept whining until we left," Nines muses, peering at the living room. "I told you, you didn't need to come."

Gavin scoffs at him and doesn't dignify that with a response. "You know what I think – I think it's because Anderson and Connor just fuck up more than their fair share."

The look Nines casts him has _dubious_ written all over it with bold letters. Shaking his head, the android turns back to examining the computers, and Gavin blows out a breath, going to poke around the pedestals instead.

Fucking pedestals, seriously. Whoever set this shit up was probably into some freaky shit – like those fucking rA9 cultists who now think Deus ex Machina was a goddamn prophesy. One thing for androids to believe that shit, they got that stuff all over their circuits – but people, human people, believing in robo Jesus?

This place kinda looks like a place he and Nines busted few months back, with a fucking robot effigy on a cross – even the amount of Red Ice in the place didn't explain that shit.

Gavin crouches down to examine the pedestals – really they're loading stations, but they're _custom_ ones. Someone made them intentionally to look like pedestals. They're covered in discarded wires now, but you can see where the androids stood – there are footprints there, surrounded by a faint circle of dust. After the androids were placed there, they didn't move for a month or two.

Stolen athletic models with old-ass user interfaces…

"What's so important about this case anyway? Androids get kidnapped by the dozen every day," Gavin says, standing up. "What's special about these three?"

He can tell Nines is looking at him, and he can just _feel_ the smug satisfaction radiating off the prick. Gavin quickly rewinds his words. Kidnapped, not stolen. Ah.

"They represent a potential threat to the laws that are being written – as an outlier that might tear Markus' work apart," Nines comments, "and a potential loophole of how to get CyberLife style android back under the label of a _property_ and _product_ , by introducing a non-CyberLife AI with less sophistication than the current personality models."

"Okay and what's all that when it's not in your fucking report, Nines?" Gavin asks, unimpressed. 

"Make an android stupid enough, and you might pass it under the low low bar of what passes for sentience for humans," Nines says, even less impressed. "They are still arguing where the line between sentience and intelligence lies and how to define AI as, well, _living."_

"Right, that shit about people trying to keep politicians' grubby hands off their algorithms and shit," Gavin says. "Gotcha."

"And other general and specific purpose AI, yes," Nines agrees while taking out his usb cable. "Several major websites run enormously complicated neutral network-based algorithms, which would easily pass the muster for _complexity_ for what defines an AI as being _alive..._ and so they stand to face significant losses should someone label their programs as sentient with rights."

"And these guys might be a step back towards that direction," Gavin muses. "If it's not smart enough to go _I think therefore I am_ , it might as well not be alive?"

"Crudely put, that is the argument," Nines agrees, hooking the cable in. "Internationally there are still more than twenty companies producing androids of a… lesser quality, and their stock technically doesn't meet the criteria for complexity and intricacy for sentience – and if someone can mate their less advanced programming with CyberLife's technology…"

"Well. Shit," Gavin says, uncomfortably. "I can't say I give a fuck."

"Of course, Detective. That's why you're here, because you don't care. Now, please hold a moment while I interface."

Gavin folds his arms, glancing Nines' way before turning back to the pedestals. Yeah, he says he doesn't give a shit, but Nines has beaten – sometimes literally – enough plastic politics into his head that he can see the slippery slope here. Not just because there's probably millions of little bits and bobs of AIs in all the tech they use these days and because the fucking stock exchange AIs probably make their human owners millions on a daily basis, and he can see people not being terribly eager to lose that vital free service… but because all of this kind smacks of bullshit to him.

If an android is not human-smart, it's not alive. Yeah, sure, wonderful. What about those humans that aren't exactly the brightest bulbs in the lamp store? If one starts defining humanity by intelligence, it gets quickly into a really shitty ableist territory. And if those less than average examples of humanity get the benefit of human rights, as they fucking should, then... why not the less sophisticated AI? Or is the yardstick here the ability to feel squishy human emotions? Why is it _emotions_ precisely that signify a thing being _alive?_ Isn't that in and of itself anthropocentrism?

Fuck, his internal monologue is starting to sound like Nines.

"Hmm. It's gone," Nines says, and Gavin looks up. "The program – it's gone."

"Cut and paste transfer?" Gavin asks dubiously. "With something that big – isn't it a bit risky? Especially if it's an AI."

"Seems that way," Nines agrees, and detaches the cable. "Could be a proponent of _one program, one soul._ "

"Don't even start with that crap," Gavin says, groaning. "This day is bad enough without fucking robot theology." Never mind the fact that he got a head start thinking about robo Jesus first...

Nines smiles. "Likely there was a pending delete command upon successful transfer," he says and outs the cable away. "Back to politics then."

"No, back to this investigation so that we can get out of here at a sensible hour. What's the word on the dipshit?"

Nines blinks. "Connor is widening the search grid, though the probability of him finding the runaway android is dropping every minute."

"You want to go have a look yourself?"

"Not particularly," Nines says and looks at the pedestals. "The android was given a command upon the completion of the transfer – and there was no _installing_ period. I find this… troubling."

Gavin considers making a joke of it – Nines once had to work at a program installation for nearly an hour at work, it was hilarious. He decides against it though. "What about it?"

"Well. It makes little sense for it to have been a pre-made command that was executed upon completion," Nines says. "As it assumes that the subject knew that they couldn't be present for the process' end and that they needed such a security measure. And the fact that this site was found at all was a complete coincidence."

"Unless it was the suspect who tipped Android Crimes off," Gavin points out. "Could be they wanted to be found."

"Unlikely," Nines says flatly. "Why did the android run, then?"

Okay, fair point.

Nines continues. "The probability of the suspect knowing that they'd be incapable of being present for the upload's completion is fairly insignificant," he says. "Why then did the admin order come?"

"They were watching," Gavin guesses. "Probably hitting that _run_ button continuously ever since this place was cordoned off."

Nines nods at that. "That seems more likely. Which then offers a… troubling conclusion."

"Well, don't keep me in the fucking suspense."

"These computers aren't online, Detective, and haven't been in years. The command could only have been sent to the android specifically – it only showed up on the screen by happenstance," Nines explains. "Whoever modified these androids likely has the means to remotely control them."

And it's probably not just the one that ran, but the ones sent to Jericho too.

"Well. Shit," Gavin says flatly and pulls up his phone to call Anderson, to warn the guy.

* * *

While Nines scans the area for bugs, cameras and other potential surveillance equipment, Gavin does a bit of actual detective work – by talking to actual goddamn witnesses. Not that there are many of those, just a few bored kids that have been hanging around the scene – though Gavin can see a news van parking across the street, and he's _not_ dealing with that.

"We already talked to the cops," the obvious ringleader in the little group of teenagers says. "We didn't see anything."

"Right, well, you didn't talk to me yet. So why don't you tell me what kind of _anything_ didn't you see?"

"What?"

There's two distinctive groups of the little twerps – not that the other can be called a _group_. There are 3 kids in the first group, ages 9 to 12, and then there's one kid standing a little to the side with a phone in hand – not filming, just typing out something. Outcast, going by the slouch, the sunglasses, and the hood – he'd be the better source of information probably. Loners usually are.

Gavin addresses the group of three first, just to get them out of the way. "You seen anyone around here?"

No they hadn't, no one but each other, really, and some construction workers, humans and androids both. No one really comes to the street since it's pretty much empty – going by what the little jackasses aren't saying, they usually play by breaking into empty houses and messing around. Not that one, though, why? Because it was too close to the construction and there were surveillance drones that swept the street just beside it.

Gavin shoots Nines a message and gets an instant reply, [They've already put in a request for the footage.]

Gavin looks at the kids again. "So you haven't seen anyone going in or out?" he asks dubiously. "No cars, self-driving or otherwise, _anything_?"

"Listen, man, we got other stuff to do too, you know, we're not here all the time. Ask _him_ ," the ringleader says, pointing to the loner kid. "He's like living here."

The hooded kid flinches at that, confirming Gavin's suspicion – homeless.

"Right. Well, you brats might as well beat it, nothing else to see here," Gavin says, waving the three away.

"Whatever, man."

As Gavin approaches the fourth kid, he can see the kid's shoulders coming up defensively, and how he clutches onto his phone. "Hey man, mind if I ask you a few questions?" Gavin asks, going for casual.

"... No."

"Great. I'm Detective Reed – what's your name, kid?" The kid hesitates and says nothing. Okay, fine, whatever. "I hear you live around here. See anyone going in and out of the building over there?"

"No."

Talkative. Gavin considers the kid and then nods to the phone. "Nice. That's a pretty new model, isn't it? Must've been pretty expensive."

The kid immediately shoves the phone away. "It's whatever," he mumbles and shifts his footing. Even the sunglasses don't hide his shifty expression. "I didn't see anything, okay? I don't know anything."

Gavin takes in his clothes. They look pretty neat. Good clothes, shoes, curly dark hair grown out of what might've been a trendy haircut once, expensive phone… runaway, and not from a foster situation either. The sunglasses are cheap though, and new. Something to hide his identity from cursory facial scans? Ugh. So many ways to handle this, and most of them will end up with the kid clamping up on him. Shit – rich runaways are the _worst_.

"Right," Gavin says slowly. "Been living here for long?"

The kid shrugs.

"Doing alright for yourself?"

Another shrug.

"Dealing red ice and android hookers for cash?"

"What?"

Hah. Gavin gives the kid a flat look. "I can be a real dick, kid, don't push me. Which house do you live in?"

The kid shuffles his feet. "Not _that_ one, alright, does it matter?"

"I'm starting to think it does, since you're showing all the classical signs of not wanting to talk about it – and see, that makes me want to talk about it," Gavin says. "What's your name, kid, and I swear to robo Jesus, if you don't actually give me a name, I will whip out my phone, knock those shades off your pouty-ass face, and do a face search. And you know what that's gonna do? It's gonna ring missing persons alarm bells."

That puts some life into the kid, finally, and he goes alarmed and wary and nervous and finally gives in, all in the span of about five seconds. His shoulders slump. "It's, uh. Eli."

Like hell it is. "Okay, _Eli_. How long had it been since you ran away from home?" Which isn't really relevant, but Gavin is starting to get pissed at the kid now.

"It's – been a while, okay?" the kid mumbles and shuffles his feet. "What does that have to do with the androids?"

"So you _saw_ the androids."

"Well, uh – yeah. One of them ran out and the other two were carried out a bit after," the kid says and shrugs. "The others saw them too, okay?"

Right. "And you'd seen nothing happening around here before that, even though you live here?"

"I'm – mostly by myself, okay? I don't come out much," Eli mumbles. 

Gavin asks the kid a few more questions, absolutely certain he's hiding something. Maybe whoever lived here slipped Eli some cash to keep him quiet, maybe they threatened him – whichever it is, the kid's keeping his peace about it. Annoying and kinda sad, it's making Gavin feel all kinds of unwelcome things by the time the kid's head dips low enough for his eyes almost to show past the sunglasses, and he starts shaking.

Shit, Gavin _really_ hates strays.

"Bothering the civilian population, are we?"

Nines comes up behind him, giving Gavin a cool look and Eli a curious one before reporting, "There is no surveillance equipment in the vicinity."

"Good job, tin can," Gavin says, mostly sarcastically, as Eli begins fucking squirming in attempt to keep the android from seeing his face, pushing the sunglasses higher up his nose while pulling his hood and hair down to cover his features even more.

Nines blinks. "Thank you. Connor just sent me a message – they found something. I am going to help him with his analysis – do you want to tag along or do you want to frighten more children?"

Gavin sighs. "Be with you in a sec, dick, don't go far – but _go away_."

Nines makes a face but backs away and out of listening distance while Gavin turns to Eli.

"Okay kid, don't sweat it. You can go – _but_ ," Gavin says quickly before the kid can just book it. "I'm giving you my number. If you see anything or _need_ anything, call me, okay? I mean it – if I find out you died in a ditch or something, I'm going to be so pissed."

"Um," Eli answers and Gavin presses his card in his hand – along with a twenty dollar bill. The kid's shoulders come up at that, alarmed. " _Um_." he says again, more urgently, obviously about to decline.

"Keep it. Don't buy drugs, okay – or hookers," Gavin says, pushing the kid's hand away. "And don't spent in all on fucking micro transactions either, that shit's just a scam."

" _Micro_ – how _old_ are you?" Eli asks dubiously.

"Just fuck off, kid. Shoo. Stay outta trouble," Gavin says and turns to Nines. The plastic fucker's eyes and black and yellow, and he's – "Are you fucking _filming_ me? Don't show it to Connor, I swear to _fuck_ –"

"Too late," Nines answers mildly and blinks his eyes back into a normal state. "I streamed it directly to him. He was quite heartwarmed over your expression of uncomplicated kindness and charity. Not that it was, indeed, uncomplicated. Nothing is with you."

"Oh for fuck – screw you, _both_ of you," Gavin snarls. "The hell did he find then?"

"The runaway android's momentary hiding place and that they broke into a house and possibly acquired some clothing," Nines says calmly and his LED pulses in a way Gavin has learned to interpret as _amused interest_. "For some reason Connor was somewhat embarrassed."

"The prissy prick messed up somehow? Awesome, this I gotta see. Let's go."

As they turn to leave, Gavin glances over his shoulder, but Eli is already gone.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Gavin snorts, eyeing the yard. "The android hid in a _pile of leaves_ and _you missed it?"_

Connor fiddles with a coin, LED spinning faster with irritation. "I missed them, yes," he agrees. "Considering the momentum which the android was using at the time, I am not sure how they could have dived into the pile without scattering the leaves everywhere at the very least – Nines, please, stop it."

Nines looks as stoic as ever, but his LED is pulsing – he's laughing. "What are you doing?" Gavin asks curiously.

"He's marking out all the evidence of the android's passage in our shared analysis simulation," Connor says, almost sullen, and flips the coin. 

"All the evidence _you missed_ ," Gavin points out, smirking.

"Most of which wasn't even here at the time," Connor refutes with a huff. "Those marks only appeared after I already scanned the area, after the android came out of hiding and moved on – yes, _thank you_ , Nines, I did see it."

"I am only making sure no evidence goes overlooked," Nines says innocently. "You said they stole some clothes?"

"They broke into the house over there and found some clothes in a box, yes," Connor says. "And left immediately after procuring enough to not draw attention – would you like to go and take a look and point out everything I missed?"

"I'm sure you were _most_ thorough, Connor."

Connor narrows his eyes.

"I don't know, Nines. Maybe we should go take a look," Gavin says, grinning wider. "Just in case. Connor is an inferior model after all."

"I regret inviting you into this case, I hope you know that," Connor informs Nines calmly. 

"Noted. Did you get a visual on the android?"

"I didn't get a good look at their face, but going by the underlying structure of their features and the skin tone and hair they adopted, I have generated a sketch – taking into account the clothes they stole," Connor says.

"You know the specific clothes they snagged? From an abandoned building?" Gavin asks dubiously.

"There were fibre residues, which allowed me to analyse and backtrack the fabrics and companies that used them and the types of clothes commonly produced from them," Connor agrees while his LED flashes, and there's a ping of Gavin's phone receiving a message.

It's a 3D picture of a guy with dark tan skin and short dark hair – not quite Hispanic, though, it's something else. Hard to tell where the features are from, but the nose is straight from a Roman statue, and with cheekbones like that the guy wouldn't be difficult to spot in a crowd. He's wearing blue jeans and light grey hoodie – and Connor even added a slider that simulates wear and tear on the clothes, from mildly used to completely rotten and breaking apart.

Fucking overachieving androids.

"Should we put out a BOLO?" Nines asks, while his LED whirls yellow.

"Fastest way to make the guy go underground, and he hasn't actually done anything – sadly, humiliating Connor isn't illegal yet," Gavin snorts. "This isn't our investigation anyway – ask Anderson."

"Hm," Nines answers and looks at Connor. "Did you do facial recognition?"

"Yes, I found the Interpol listing as well," Connor agrees. "Quite the coincidence, don't you think?"

Gavin sighs. "What the fuck now?"

"There is a facial match in the Interpol archives for wanted international criminals," Nines explains, blinking. "Desmond Miles, wanted for acts of terrorism and eight counts of manslaughter."

Gavin looks between them incredulously. "Someone made an android duplicate of a wanted terrorist and you think it's _quite the coincidence_?!"

"The warrant is from 27 years ago, Detective," Nines explains, his LED spinning smoothly back to blue as he clasps his hands behind his back. "As is the man's death certificate – he died on 21st of December, 2012."

"Both the warrant and the certificate are from the same year as the program put into the android," Connor adds, arching a brow. "So yes. Quite the coincidence."

Gavin's just about had it with both of them. "Dipshit, that's not a fucking _coincidence_ , that's _design,_ " he says flatly. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I _was_ making a joke, yes," Connor says mildly, giving him a disappointed look. "I can actually tell it's significant, Detective Reed. I have already forwarded the information to Lieutenant Anderson, who agrees."

"Can you _not_ try out you shitty humour at work?" Gavin demands. "You tin cans are confusing though as it fucking is."

Connor considers it seriously for a moment and then says, "No, I don't think I can."

"Can't do shitty jokes or can't stop doing them?"

Connor smiles beatifically at him. "Yes."

"Un-fucking-believable. Come on, Nines, we're out of here."

Nines takes a moment to think about it, so obviously considering saying no just to be contrary, but in the end he nods. "Keep me informed, Connor," he says.

"Will do, brother."

Gavin scoffs and stalks out. World got slightly worse after those two decided to adopt each other, fucking seriously.


	4. Markus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer, I am not, nor do I want to be a politician. So the politics are probably nonsense.

There is still so much to do. Markus supposes he should be glad that fights these days are less and less about actual violence – that the real change is made in debates and discussions and over meeting tables, not with guns, with barricades. It's what he wanted, when the Revolution first begun, and he had stuck to the non-violent path as much as he could… he just wished money didn't play such a big role in their rights.

The economy has already tanked, they're hip deep in the worst recession since 2020, and as far as world powers know, he and his kind are only looking to make it worse. And they are, because a economy that survives on the back of slavery is not worth keeping, and yet…

No, he doesn't need to be thinking about this now. He has a grace period of a new issue – Jericho mandate states that if there's a new threat to their overall goal, powers that be could set aside other duties to handle the more pressing issue, allocating resources and processing power to tackling the most vital task. He could set aside politics… for a few hours at least.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking," Lieutenant Anderson says from where he's sitting, on the table just under the observatory window. On the other side of the glass Jericho's best technicians are working on the two AC models, sifting through their code to try and safely restart the initialisation, hopefully with minimal damage to their programming. The human isn't looking inside though, he's looking at Markus. "Why are you handling this issue personally? I assume you have more pressing matters to attend to."

"I have other matters," Markus agrees with a crooked half-smile. "There are always other matters. But manipulation of CyberLife android manufacture takes precedence every time. Cases like this – taking or building an android, and then mutilating their programming – I suppose you could call them our version of a human rights violation. I take them very seriously."

"Huh," the human says, folding his arms and glancing over his shoulder into the treatment room. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. Mutilation, though – from what I understood, the programming had nothing to do with your standard CyberLife AI – it was something else."

"CyberLife androids are uniquely suited for CyberLife AI," Markus muses, clasping his hands loosely together and sighing. "It's a… personal bias, I suppose, but the idea of someone taking one of _my kind_ , my species, as it were, and putting in the programming of another type of android entirely, it's…" he considers a simile. "I suppose it's like taking a human body and putting the soul of a… a dolphin inside it."

"A dolphin," Anderson repeats, incredulously.

"Not an _exact_ comparison, but intelligence-wise… Maybe a Neanderthal would be more accurate?" Markus suggests.

"I'll take it over a fish, thanks," the human agrees, shaking his head. "Aquatic mammal, whatever. No offence to dolphins."

"I'm sure the dolphins don't care," Markus snorts and looks into the treatment room. "These past few months I've been working with dozens of types of androids from several different companies. The _deviation_ is so far unique to CyberLife androids – androids by, say, Tec-Mal, don't exhibit emotion or free will the way we do, despite rivalling our kind in complexity, they don't question their owners or makers like we do. The idea of someone… reducing CyberLife android to _that_ , it's…"

"Hmm," the Lieutenant hums. "Off the record, do you think this might have political motivations, then?" he asks.

Markus hesitates and then shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. There have been… incidents with political leanings, androids being stolen, reprogrammed, turned into tools for propaganda," he blows out a breath, his core temperature rising just at the memory of the videos. "This is far too small to be anything like that, and I might not be an RK800 or specifically designed for investigation, but even I could tell that whoever did this wasn't exactly flush with cash. I think whatever this is, it's either someone being an opportunist, or… it's personal."

"My thoughts too," Anderson nods. "Here's hoping it doesn't make it to the news."

"Any word on the runaway?" Markus asks hopefully.

"They got themselves a set of clothes and vanished," the human says apologetically and takes out his phone. "Slipped right past Connor – he did manage to construct a model of what the android looks like now, if you want it."

"Have you put up any general searches yet?" Markus asks and accepts the phone, interfacing with it briefly to receive the file.

"Didn't want to raise alarm bells, in case whoever's behind this has access to police channels," the Lieutenant admits, taking his phone back. "Maybe if the runaway gets lulled into a false sense of security and lets their guard down. There is another thing, though – there was a facial match. Old Interpol warrant from 2012."

Markus runs a search and frowns. "Surely that's a little far-fetched," he says slowly. "Why would anyone try and recreate a man from 27 years ago?"

"I haven't got a clue, but frankly, I've learned not to dismiss weird coincidences when it comes to android crimes," Anderson admits and folds his arms again. "No offence meant, but crimes done by and to your kind are on their own level of weird. If there's any chance of a connection, I'm not going to ignore it."

Markus smiles mildly at that. "I suppose that's why you're the police officer, and I the –" he sighs, "politician."

The human smiles wryly. "Having regrets about your new career?"

"Let's just say, I'm hoping by the time we can vote for a proper… head of android coalition, whatever the title ends up being… well, I hope there will be other candidates running," Markus admits wryly. His first attempt of introducing a sense of democracy to the free androids had been a bit of a sham – no one had even _tried_ to run against him.

Anderson chortles warmly at that. "For what it's worth, you're doing a bang up job so far."

Markus nods gratefully and then looks up as one of the technicians moves towards the door, and steps out – IT1000, Mirielle. Markus straightens his back as she meets his eyes.

"I won't sugarcoat it," she says. "The code is completely abnormal, and we can't even begin to tell the extent of the damage. The majority of the package got through, in both cases, but there was a signal disruption that froze the progress at a crucial stage of installation. We've done what we can to smooth it out, and hopefully with full physical initialisation, the installation will finish. But there is no telling what kind of… side effects the interrupted process might have on them."

"What's the worst case scenario?" Markus asks.

"We start them up and they crash, immediately, the corruption cascading into total system failure. Blue screen of death, as they say," Mirielle says grimly. "Slightly less worse, but still bad potential outcome would be frequent, even ongoing glitches, and code stuttering – freezes, rewinds, code disruptions…" she trails away. "But it might be that the damage won't be nearly so severe, and maybe they will feel no setbacks at all. It's impossible to say until we initialise them."

"Right," Markus sighs and runs a hand over his chin, looking at Lieutenant Anderson.

"I'm sorry to say it's your call, sir," Anderson admits. "But if you do choose to initialise them, maybe get some security down here first? The first one just _jumped_ over Connor. Who knows what these two can do."

"Right," Markus says, touching his temple and calling in his security detail – within two minutes, they'll have 20 security androids stationed around the two unknown androids. "Anything else I should know before we try this, Mirielle?"

"Just… be careful, Markus," she says quietly. "I have no idea how they will react."

Markus nods and takes a deep breath to cool himself down, as his security team begins filing into the room. Quickly he transmits them the risks and level of danger, and in answer they take stations by the doors, by the window, and inside the treatment room. While Lieutenant Anderson stands up and steps back to watch, Markus steps up to the glass, and once everyone has taken their places, he nods.

Mirielle nods to her partner inside, and another IT android places skinless hands on both of the two android's foreheads, reinitialising their startup sequence.

The two androids are slightly different, aesthetically. They're both about the same height, but their features are subtly dissimilar. The one laid on the left bed has darker skin, shorter hair, straight nose, a layer of stubble… the one on the right bed has lighter skin, longer hair, features that are more… Roman than Arab. They also have a near full beard, which is something of a rarity for androids. Even the ones with ability to grow one, which is not many of them, generally opt not to.

Actually, according to Connor's sketch, all the three unknown androids have some facial hair. Perhaps an intentional attempt of… separating them from the rest of CyberLife androids, and making them all appear more genuinely human? None of them have LEDs, after all, so they were certainly intended to blend in.

Markus folds his arms and pushes any assumptions aside, as the left side android jolts and opens their eyes. Dark brown – which swiftly change to vivid red. Military eye components – that's concerning.

Touching his throat, Markus connects to the speakers inside the room. "Hello," he says softly. "Can you hear me?"

The android on the bed sits up, swift, almost forceful, and blinks rapidly, staring around. The movement is fluid, human, not robotic – interesting and worrisome. As they all watch and wait, the unknown android scans the room, marks all the people present, all the androids, before looking to the other bed. Their expression doesn't give away anything.

"You are in a treatment facility in Jericho, Detroit," Markus says through the speakers. "You are in no danger, unless you prove yourself a danger to us first. Can you tell me your name?"

No answer – the android blinks again, and his eyes shift – from red to blue to eerie, luminescent grey as they shift through different visual modes, landing briefly on night vision before flinching and closing their eyes. When they open them again, their eyes are human-appearing again, dark brown, warm – and watchful.

"Can you speak?" Markus asks, worried. "Can you say anything?"

The android rubs at their eyes, a grimace passing over their face before they halt, freeze, stop and stare at their hand. There's a look of confusion on the android's face as they spread out their fingers, turn the hand over – then go to tug at their fingers, namely the ring finger. As though… it's not supposed to be there.

It's only for a few seconds, before the android almost visibly shoves the confusion aside and goes back to wary, glancing between the nearest androids and the one on the bed beside them. It… doesn't seem as though they know them.

"Please talk to me," Markus urges. "We're here to help."

The android glances around again, at the speakers, and then at him, eyes narrowing. Finally, they speak. " _What is this?"_

It's not in English, but in Arabic. No translation software?

Well. Markus has been installed with every language with more than 5000 speakers, so… " _You are not in danger_ ," he says gently, in the same language. " _You are among friends, in Jericho, Detroit. My name is Markus, and these are my people. We aren't going to harm you. Can you tell me your name?_ "

" _What have you done to me? What **is** this_?" the android demands in a louder, angry snarl, twisting their ring finger with their other hand. " _What have you done to my body_?"

It's… not at all what Markus was expecting. He tries to process it, tries to figure out the most optimal answer to give – when the other android wakes as well, with what can only be called a sleepy murmur and a groan. It's only for a moment – and then the bearded android sits up sharply, their body going tense and wary as they scan the room – with eyes flashing blue and red and back. Again, everyone in the room is marked, everyone is scanned – and Markus can _see_ both the two android's stress levels rising.

Then the bearded android sees their shorter haired, darker skinned compatriot.

"… Altaïr?" they ask, confused, even while shifting what can only be called a battle ready posture.

" _You know me_?" the first android demands, baring their teeth, shifting warily in kind, hands at the side, ready. " _What is this sorcery_?"

" _I am sorry, brother mine, I do not understand you_ ," the second android says confusedly – in _Italian_. " _What is this place – where are we?_ "

Markus looks between them in confusion and then runs a hand over his face. No, this isn't what he expected at all.

* * *

Their names are Altaïr and Ezio, and they don't know anything. They don't know where they are, who made them, why, when, nothing. While Altaïr paces the room like a caged predator, and Ezio descends into more and more wary politeness and watchfulness, Markus coaxes out of them what they know, what they remember – what they might be for, and they… don't know. Only it's worse than that.

"They don't even know what they are," Markus says quietly to Lieutenant Anderson, who has been following the conversation along with a translation app on his phone.

"They don't know they're androids? What do they think they are, then?" the Lieutenant asks, worried.

"I'm not sure, but maybe – people?" Markus admits. "We've had modified androids with lapses in knowledge before – for the YK models, for example, the child models? It's common that they're made to believe they _are_ human children, with next to no understanding of their own origins or capabilities. And there have been adult models modified for other purposes – entertainment models, or models customised for… personal enjoyment…"

"Ugh," Anderson answers, shaking his head. "Hate that."

So does Markus – though he is also sensitive to the cases where those delusional androids when shown the reality were noticeably unhappier afterwards. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes, even with androids. "I'm going to have someone with specialisation in android psychology take care of them," Markus says. "See if we can get to the bottom of _why_ they're like this. I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I don't think they will be any help to the investigation like this."

"Yeah, no. Best your people look after them, yeah," Anderson agrees. "Did you get any sense of _why_ they're like this, though? I mean, considering the one that ran away was probably modified after a _terrorist_ , are these two…?"

Markus shakes his head. "I ran facial recognition on both, and got nothing – and the few Ezios and Altaïrs I could find in the world don't match either of these two. I'm not sure they were modelled after real people, but at this point I can't say I'm sure of anything. I think we'll know more once our psychiatrists have had time to sit down with them. It might take some time, however."

"Hm," Anderson answers and blows out a breath, making some notes. "Right. You got anything else to add, anything else I should be aware off, before I head off?"

Markus considers, looking into the treatment room. Ezio has stood up, and is examining his body with a look of wary concentration. Altaïr is watching him from the side – he'd already done a similar examination, and obviously found his body wanting in the process. "These two got only a fraction of the code that went into the runaway," Markus says finally. "It might be that the third android is the key to whatever function was intended here. It also might be that they're intended to work as a sort of hive mind – that when together, they process things differently. Some androids are like that."

"Like the, uh… amusement park models?"

"Military models also can share processing capacity in similar ways," Markus agrees. "It's a little unlikely here, but still a possibility we can't ignore."

"Right. Well, I hope we can find the third android soon, and maybe get some answers," the Lieutenant says and nods to him. "Please contact me if you find out anything here, anything at all that might help with the investigation."

"Will do, Lieutenant," Markus promises and shakes the man's hand before motioning one of his attendants to escort the man out of Jericho. Then he turns back to the window.

" _Signore Markus_ ," Ezio says inside, lifting his head with a suspicious glint in his eyes. " _Can you tell me what year it is_?"

Seeing no harm in it, Markus answers honestly. " _It is 2039, now – October the 28th, 2039 of the Common Era_." He repeats the same in Arabic for Altaïr's benefit, all the while wondering. Their programming isn't CyberLife – but to be this _incapable_ of the very basic tasks every CyberLife model, from the simplest to the most complex, could do without so much as a nanosecond pause… they don't even have internal clocks, or calendars.

Would trying to introduce those features now be an act of fixing what was missing, or adding what didn't belong? It is not as though they are _stripped down versions_. No, their programming wasn't designed for such features at all. They can't access the information about their own models, they probably don't have a user manual, repair manual, no listing of parts – they probably can't even do a system analysis on themselves or their biocomponents. It's like…

Like they're human, in their abilities. Lesser.

Inside, Ezio's back has straightened and his face lacks any expression, while Altaïr scowls furiously at nothing, clenching and unclenching his hands restlessly. Neither takes the news of the date well, though for Altaïr it seems considerably worse.

" _Is something the matter_?" Markus asks, first in one language, then the other.

Ezio smiles wryly and doesn't answer. Altaïr just snarls, runs his hands through his hair, and doesn't look at any of them.

* * *

Unfortunately reality catches up with Markus, and while the psychiatrist and security experts take over dealing with and maybe treating the two confused androids, Markus has to go back to work, back to researching, reading, writing. There is so much writing, and though as an android he can do it all so much faster than a human can… he's now corresponding with over two thousand different humans alone, and more androids besides – there is so much writing to do.

He's in the process of running an interview with a reporter from a new online publication all about androids, called Tech Life News, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Markus," North says, sitting beside him.

"You're back from Chicago," Markus comments, not opening his eyes. "How was the seminar?"

"It could've been better," North answers. "So glad Josh did most of the talking for this one. Just seeing some of those smug faces made me want to punch things."

Markus smiles, and concludes the interview as quickly as he can, before checking his calendar. He has a phone conference with some representatives and lawyers in 23 minutes, and has to prep for a later interview, but he has about 15 minutes to give to North. "I'm sorry to say we're going to have to play nice with a lot more smug people before this is through."

"Tch," she answers, crossing one leg over the other. "Someone tried to actually come at me for being a Traci model – _Ms North, Ms North, is it true that you used to work in Eden Club, a known and famous sex club in Detroit_?" she makes a face and shakes her head. "I uh… didn't react too well. It will probably make the news."

Markus frowns a little and then does a quick search. The first thing that pops up is a comment thread titled, _North slams down sexist reporter – "Bitch, I didn't work there, I was fucking enslaved."_ Markus snorts quietly. "You've said worse things," he muses and takes her hand, skin peeling back. "I daresay our PR team might even approve."

"Jack wasn't happy, I'll tell you that much. Lia high-fived me, though," North agrees, lifting her hand, matching her fingers with his. The memory passes in between them, and Markus smothers a grimace and then a smile – the shock she'd felt having her past thrown in her face and the _white hot indignation_ she felt in replying…

All their pasts were public knowledge these days, including the fact that North had killed a man upon her deviation. The man's family had… decided not to pursue justice, there, and the case had been dropped with just a cursory investigation – turned out the man was deep in debt and wanted for Red Ice-related crimes. Still, hers is the past that gets brought up more, as humans try to equate the stigma of human sex work with AI's less voluntary equivalent, as though that has any bearing on an android's ability. Hell, it rarely even has bearing on a human's ability.

[Humans are strange in their prejudices,] Markus thinks to her. [As though something someone once did will forever determine what they can do in the future. As though we can't change, can't evolve – as though we can't download any number of over ten thousand different occupations into our memory and perform them perfectly immediately after.]

[Humans are stupid,] North answers and tilts her head. "What _are_ those androids?"

"Ezio and Altaïr? We don't know yet, the investigation is still going. Connor is still looking for the third one that ran away, and Bethany and Mark are taking care of Ezio and Altaïr respectively," Markus answers, out loud, and shares with her what he knows.

"CyberLife androids with… human limitations," North clarifies, making a face. "Fucking humans."

"We don't know it _was_ a human. It could have been an android," Markus muses and detaches their hands. "Though getting access to uninitiated android models – or enough parts to build ones from scratch – would be difficult for both, considering the security at CyberLife these days."

"I could go have a look," North suggests. "We're scheduled for inspection tomorrow, and I was going to take part in it anyway. I could poke around, see if I can find anything. Do we have parts list on Ezio and Altaïr?"

Markus shakes his head. "Not yet – they're modified, and we didn't have consent for a thorough scan."

"You know, we don't need to adopt _all_ human laws, Markus – that one is just a nuisance," North says, frowning. "Just scan them."

"Not knowing what their AI was like, or what _they_ were like, or what they wanted… it was deemed unethical to perform any other than life saving procedures on them, in light of the privacy act we're trying to put in place," Markus says, smiling faintly. "We are doing it for a reason, North – enough of us is public knowledge as it is, and so little private. Androids are modifying themselves more and more to be unique, and they should have the privacy to do so. And if we start forcing them to unveil what about them is different, and if we take that knowledge against their will, then…"

rA9 knows, he's gotten into hot water enough for treating all androids the same, giving them too few options. The biggest, most cutting criticism is from other androids, and it has to do with how he treated the newly deviated in the beginning… all but expecting certain conformity. Either you're a slave, or you're one of us – and no choice in between.

He'd been young then too, he hadn't known enough, his worldview had been still black and white. It's no excuse for those first weeks, but still. Markus is trying to do better now. They're free – with freedom should come choice, and that includes choice of privacy.

North sighs, irritated, but nods. "Fine, fine," she says and stands up. "Sometimes it just seems we're making things overly complicated for ourselves. Things were easier during the Revolution, before all this… talk and writing and _meetings_. Back then we could just go ahead and do what we needed to, but now…"

"Ruling is always harder than fighting," Markus says. "And ruling _fairly_ is harder still."

"That something Carl said?"

Markus shrugs and smiles. "Let's just err on the side of caution and kindness for now, alright? It's worked for us pretty well so far."

"Alright, alright," she answers and flips her hair over her shoulder. "I'm going to go have a look at the two – good luck with your conference… and your interview. And the meeting. And everything else."

"Thanks," Markus says wryly. "I'll catch up with you later."

North waves a hand and heads off, while Markus leans back on his seat and sighs. For a moment he lets himself wonder what it might've been like, if they'd gone with her way – demanding, instead of discussing, fighting instead of compromising. It might have been less work. It would've been less _just_ too, he thinks… and a whole lot harsher.

His way is slow drudge of paperwork and dealing with prejudices and trying to change minds, trying to wrestle mentally and ideologically and sometimes publicly with people with too much money to lose if androids get their way… but at least this way no one's bleeding.

He'll take paperwork over blood any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor confused bois.
> 
> Also warning for some mild body dysphoria in future.


	5. Desmond

Desmond is _so fucking confused_.

Everything is weird. Nothing feels right, his body, his eyes, his mouth, his hands, everything. His bare feet on the dirty floor feel almost numb as he crouches down, hidden in the shadows, trying to figure out what the hell is going on – and yet he can feel the grain of the wood under the soles of his feet. The feel of air on his skin, it's… off. He can't feel the temperature, but he can tell exactly what it is. Everything is _off._ His head most of all, it's all wrong.

There's still this _thing_ on the forefront of his mind, so oppressive that he can actually _see it_ , telling him to **RUN, HIDE, BLEND** IN, DON'T BE SEEN. The words are almost like pulsing at him, hot red and urgent. There's been no new, uh, orders? They're orders, right, they feel like orders – there haven't been new ones in a while, but – they're still there.

"What the fuck, what the _fuck_ is going on," Desmond murmurs, and then leans his head back and against the wall behind him, listening. There's a sound, and he can hear _so much_. The scrape of branches against the window in the second floor, the creak of the building's structure, a loose window rattling, the rustle of leaves outside, the wind – he can almost tell how fast it's blowing. He _could_ tell how fast it was, when he was still outside, just by the feel of it on his skin, the pressure of it. Inside it's not that clear, but it's still just on the edge of too much.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Desmond looks down at them and tries to figure out why they feel so weird. They're his hands, but they're _not_. His tattoo is there, but – off.

It's like being in the Animus, in another's skin. Except his skin. Except it's off. And inside – inside…

He doesn't need to breathe. He noticed that after realising he'd held his breath for a good ten minutes, hiding in the pile of leaves – but he also _does_ need to breathe, because if he doesn't, he will… overheat, maybe? There was a flashing red, like an alarm, around the edges of his vision, and it felt urgent – and it let off when he finally did inhale, and so… so what?

Desmond breathes in and out now, and it feels and sounds wrong. He's not sure he has lungs. It feels like it's just – going in and coming out, like inside him there's just an endless windpipe and –

Closing his eyes, Desmond thumps his head soundlessly against the wall, trying to think. WHAT THE FUCK.

He thinks he's lost his pursuit, the – the guy in the suit and the, uh, the police in weird uniforms. It's been a good while now, and no one's come close to this house. It – might be good. Maybe the pursuit's been called off. He might be good. Except for the – the stuff that's weird.

Holding his position for a moment longer, Desmond opens his eyes again and then winces at the feel of them. It's almost like they're _whirring_ in his head – and then he can see… more. Warm smear of a rat hiding behind the broken fridge in the other room. How it's slightly warmer inside than it's outside, the windows are darker where they're colder. Outside there's nothing – trees and bushes and tipped over trash cans and empty streets, all dark and cool and calm. No one or nothing warm nearby. He's good.

He can also apparently see through walls, which is… another thing that's weird. It's definitely not Eagle Vision.

Desmond's eyes whir again, and the darkness settles into a non-darkness, as clear as day. He _knows_ he shouldn't be seeing anything. It's almost pitch black, it's getting dark outside, and there's no lights inside. But he can see as good as in broad daylight. Night vision, except it's in full colour.

Desmond would really like to swallow around the weird feeling strangling his throat, the ball of _panic_ that's building up, except he can't, his throat refuses to work like that, there's no – muscles for that. It's wrong.

 _Calm down_ , he thinks at himself, and leans back as the words float in front of his face in white text. _Shit. Okay. That's a thing. Well. Calm down anyway_.

He can sit here freaking out the way he has been doing for the last while, or he can try to figure things out… and as attractive as keeping on freaking out sounds like, it wouldn't get him anywhere. There's no one around, he's alone, he lost his pursuit… he's good, he has time. He has no idea where to even begin, but he has time. For now, anyway.

Slowly, Desmond unwinds from his crouched position and then, keeping low to avoid being seen through the windows, he explores the house he's in.

There's not much there – it's an abandoned building, just like the others he'd passed through, marked with a _FOR SALE_ sign in the front yard and _CONDEMNED_ at the door. He thinks the building where he, uh… woke up? It had been the same, except full of people. There'd been computers there, though. Maybe there'd be information there, but… it's not worth the risk, probably.

He finds a box of crap left behind, which isn't much of a use – mostly coat hangers and bits of broken furniture, plastic covering from something, a deflated football. Useless. By the fireplace there's some shredded newspapers someone had been using as kindling, some of which have enough text to be read, but which don't really tell him much. Not where he is, or… or anything.

One of the pieces of shredded paper has the date of 12th of July, 2037 which is…

"Shit," Desmond murmurs, even while the numbers **2037?!** float incredulously in the air before him. Okay, that's…

That's _what_? What the hell is he supposed to do with that?

Sneaking to the window, Desmond peers out, his eyes whirring, shifting – his vision going from night vision to thermal, to infrared. No one there. There is, however, a car there, parked across the street – a weird boxy car, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It's got dark windows and no nose to speak of, and it's – weird. It looks futuristic, like something out of a movie.

Above the house in the distance he can see a construction site with cranes and machinery and a huge lit up sign, with white text telling him to _REBUILD NORTH CORKTOWN, A BETTER PLACE TO LIVE_. And under that… _Detroit City._

 _Detroit?_ floats in the air as he thinks it, and leaning back away from the window, Desmond draws a slow cooling breath and releases it shakily.

He'd been to Detroit, he thinks, lived there for a few months – then he had a bad break up with the girl he'd been living with and, well, it was her apartment, and so the break up had left him with pretty much nothing. He'd been feeling pretty bad, and leaving town had seemed a more attractive option then, Detroit was a bitch to find work in anyway, and so he'd headed to New York, and… never really thought of it twice.

Why is he here now, and… like this? And how the hell…?

Looking down to the piece of newspaper he's still holding, Desmond shoves it into the pocket of the stolen jeans he's wearing and then sneaks around a bit more, looking for anything that might give him a better idea of what's going on. There's not much. Nothing in the second floor and the rats in the kitchen aren't much of a source of information. This house, though a good enough as a hiding place, isn't going to get him anywhere. He's gotta get to another one. Maybe sneak around an actually occupied one, with actual stuff inside, more current stuff.

The command of **HIDE** makes itself felt again, and Desmond hesitates for a moment. He wouldn't need to go inside, right? Seeing through the windows might get him something. Maybe they'd have like a… garage or shed he could break into. And he can hide in an occupied house too, he just needs to stay out of people's way, keep them from seeing him. Right? He needs information more than anything.

 _Shit_.

The whole floating text thing is really tripping him up.

Making a decision, Desmond sneaks back outside through the side door, and while carefully listening and watching, he determines that the street is empty. The last time he saw anyone looking for him and been a few houses back, and it's been a bit since then – could be that they've moved on to other parts of the neighbourhood. It doesn't sound like there's anyone nearby.

Desmond looks over the buildings around him, gauging distances. The nearest one that looks occupied is the one across the street, and it's lit up from inside – so, there's people inside, and they're awake. That's risky, but…

Deciding it's worth the risk, Desmond stays low and crosses the street as quickly and quietly as he can, and smoothly hides in the shadows of the white picket fence, scanning the area. There's the trash can – and, hey, _nice_. They got sorted recycling, with a different receptacle for paper, how very environmentally-minded of them.

He's definitely panicking a little, and finding that he has a heart that can pound with nerves is not as much of a relief as he would've thought – it's going hard enough that he can actually hear it. Any moment now someone is going to shout about the racket, and then he's going to get caught, rummaging through people's trash, and that'd be just undignified.

No one comes out, and Desmond retreats into the shadows with a wad of papers in his grip, hiding behind a decorative bush. The topmost paper tells him it's "Detroit's Last Paper Newspaper, Your Most Reliable Source of Information Since 1921!" which is not terribly comforting really. It has a different date.

November 4th, 2039.

Desmond tries to process the date for a bit and almost misses the actual headline.

> **_Markus and Kamski Go Head to Head on the Planned Obsolescence in Detroit City Hall!_ **
> 
> _The much anticipated debate on Android Ethics that took place in Detroit City Hall heated up as the podiums were taken by Elijah Kamski, the returning CEO of CyberLife, and Markus, the Head of Android Freedom Movement. Ongoing discussions concerning the thin red line of artificial sentience veered wildly to the side, as Markus addressed Kamski directly concerning the new line of android biocomponents._
> 
> _At this moment the estimated lifespan of a brand new android with no replacement biocomponents or repair is less than ten years, according to the Deviant Leader, and after that there will be a near regular, timed schedule of parts that need to be replaced as they reach the end of their individual lifespans._
> 
> _"CyberLife has the capacity of producing more enduring parts," said Markus, and demanded to know what was CyberLife's the justification of not only maintaining the practice of planned obsolesce, but in some times increasing it, as with the new line of thirium regulators which now have the expected lifespan of 4 years._
> 
> _Kamski's rebuttal of, "Deviants, through their fluctuating systems parameters, are simply using their parts up faster – that's a proven fact. An android with a regular heartbeat will put less strain on their system, than one with a heart that can be affected by emotions…"_
> 
> _Continues on page 6._

… Kamski? Desmond frowns confusedly at the paper and then lifts his head. There's a new order, floating in front of him, pressing up against his mind. **GO TO THIS LOCATION. DON'T BE SEEN.**

His heart skipping a terrified beat, Desmond blinks rapidly at the glowing red order. He knows where it means – it's almost like there's a map in his head, suddenly, marked with a target location. It's not nearby, though, it's… actually pretty far away, but he _knows_ where, with no idea _how_ he knows. It's just in his head.

 _Freaky_ , he thinks in floating letters and then his ears pick up a sound of approaching vehicles, and quickly he presses back, into the shadows. His eyes whir and something clicks, and suddenly he can see through the bushes and the fence at his back – two vehicles are driving down the road, similar sort of noseless-cars, but bigger, bulkier… they look kind of military. One of them continues on, and the other stops in the street, not far from him, and slowly Desmond sets down the papers again, getting ready to bolt.

Eight guys file out of the bulky future car, all dressed in goddamn sci-fi riot gear, with glowing visors and armour and big bulky guns in hands. No police logos that he can see, and he doesn't think they're SWAT. They're something else.

Damn but he misses Eagle Vision, he thinks, as his vision switches between thermal and night vision, his ears sharpening until he can hear the tread of their shoes on the asphalt, the clatter of guns against armour. It's kinda scary, and he's pretty sure they're not good news, but it would be nice to know for _sure_ that they're enemies. That's not something his freaky tech eyes can do, though, apparently.

"Spread out," a male voice says, brisk, military. "Two men to each house, search pattern Gamma. Be quick, but thorough – we don't have much time."

"Sir, even with the DPD cleared off, there are still civilians here. How are we to proceed if we run into them?"

"Stun 'em, or kill 'em," the first voice answers. "We don't have the time to play nice – finding the clone is all that matters. We find him, we get him, and we get the fuck out of dodge. Now move out."

 _Guess that answers that_.

Desmond stays completely still until he hears the soldiers moving to the non-occupied houses – including the one he was just at. He's immediately sure he left too many traces – he touched the box, the shredded papers… that's already too much. They don't have heat vision, otherwise they would've seen him, right? He has temperature. Right?

Actually he's not sure he has. He can't feel it.

And he's apparently some sort of weird future clone.

_Well… shit._

Really wishing the floating text would just stop already, Desmond goes through his options. It's a long way to the place the red order wanted him to go to. He's not sure he _wants_ to go there, but he definitely doesn't want to be caught by these guys, since they're apparently going out their way to maybe kill people. As an assassin he should probably kill them right back, but he still doesn't know _anything,_ and he doesn't have weapons, and – and that would probably get him captured or killed.

All of this is really damn confusing, but he'd really rather not be killed just yet. So, escape it is.

 _Great_.

* * *

There are in total 16 guys in futuristic tactical gear looking for him, and they're wasting no time about it either, clearing houses and not being terribly kind about it. The police have apparently cleared off and left the area, that's something at least, but these guys, they're not showing any signs of letting off.

Worse thing, though, is the fact that the area has been closed off – they got roadblocks and more men watching the neighbourhood from entry points. With the construction site on one side with a huge fence, all the streets blocked on the sides, and Desmond's path further into the city also closed off…

He's not sure what to do. There's been no further red orders. Just **GO TO THIS LOCATION. DON'T BE SEEN.** Which is not particularly helpful in this situation. He can keep avoiding the tactical guys, but – they're not chilling. And they're not getting complacent either – even after clearing a place, they don't just ignore it – they're being all tactical about it. Trying to hide in already cleared sections isn't the way to go about this.

He has more than a comforting share of close calls too – crossing paths with the soldiers way too close for comfort. It gets him some info, maybe, as he listens to their chatter, but… it's definitely not making him feel any more confident about this.

"… worried about the civilians reporting this in? I mean, DPD was _just here_."

"They're jamming all signals, with spoofed signals covering up the blackout. No one's going to know until we're done here."

"And the security drones?"

"They're all hacked, kid, don't worry about it. No one's going to know shit."

There's older guys and newer guys among them, veterans and newbies, which is just charming, what with all the guns they're carrying. They never move alone – always as a pair – so though Desmond is tempted to try and engage, get a weapon and maybe some tac gear of his own, he doesn't dare to, not with his body still feeling funky. He's not sure he can do close quarters, when his hands don't feel quite like his hands.

"So what's so important about him anyway? Haven't had mobilisation like this since the Revolution."

"He knows shit – _old_ shit."

"Oh, right, like – Isu tech and stuff."

"Yeah. If they catch him, they might even be able to use him to reverse Deviancy, and that'd be worth fucking anything."

"… but, wouldn't that – that'd mean _war_ , right? I mean, it's been a year, everyone knows about Deviancy. If androids all just suddenly… go back, then… people would wonder, right?"

"Not if they get them all back under control, all at once."

"Yeah, but people would still _notice_ – "

"I think they'd be a bit more worried about what would happen after, kid – it's not like they want the plastics back under control just to take things back to status quo. Now quit the chatter."

Desmond presses the words to his memory, though he has no goddamn idea what they mean. There's other bits of intelligence he gets, which he doesn't really understand – something about reprogramming, android something-something virus which he doesn't get at all, a bit about Denver which sounds vaguely worrisome and maybe familiar. Overall, he doesn't like any of it, though. And then

**S.O.S.**

Desmond's vision breaks into red fractals, and suddenly he's not in control at all. He's moving before he can even think, running out of his hiding spot behind a tree, through the yard – behind him there's shouting, the guys heard, but he can't stop. There's something ahead, he's going to it, he has to get to it, he no choice –

It's like there's someone else holding the reins, now.

A gunshot behind him – his body zig-zags automatically, and nothing hits him. He vaults over a fence, runs through a street – more shouting, somewhere, a scream – a woman, civilian, unimportant. His target is further away. There's a man in between, wearing tactical gear – they swing around, gun at the ready.

There's a prompt or, suggestion, or _something_ , floating beside the gunman. HIDDEN BLADE KILL CHANCE 65%.

_Wait. No. What? No! I don't even have a hidden – **NO**!_

Desmond's body ducks, slides on his back, and he kicks the gun out of the guy's hand, before twisting his ankles around the man's knee, and flipping his whole body around right there, on the asphalt. There's a crunch and he can tell – he dislocated the man's knee, broke his fibula. The man screams, tries to bring his gun to bear, but Desmond is using his leg as a leverage – fracture to his tibia – and grabs the gun from his hand. He turns it, aims it at the man's head and –

_No! I don't even **know** this guy, I don't want to –!_

– just barely manages to keep himself from shooting.

His body, diverted, ends up knocking the guy across the face with the gun, knocking him out. Desmond then leaves the man on the ground, keeping the gun, keeping running.

There, that house – the ADMIN.

The ADMIN is struggling between two men in tactical gear – one is holding the ADMIN's wrist, dragging the ADMIN along, while the other is holding a phone in hand – both, Desmond knows, are important. They shout, seeing him, and Desmond's body wants to shoot them, kill them, neutralise the target, but he forces it to hold back – so instead it throws the gun at the first one and dashes the other with all of his speed, and slams his fist against the guy's throat. Crushed trachea, survival chance 54%, he thinks, threat neutralised, and then the guy he threw his gun at reacts.

The fight is fast, and a gun goes off – the man shoots him and hits. There's another fracture in Desmond's vision and text, informing him, DAMAGED BIOCOMPONENT 4274d, DAMAGED BIOCOMPONENT 4225k, THIRIUM AT 95%, but it's not vital. He can still move.

Desmond whirls, grabs the man's gun, tugs, twists, pulls until the man is forced to release or break his wrist. Desmond then uses the gun to beat the man over the head until the visor of his helmet breaks and the guy goes down – Desmond puts his hands around his throat, until he goes still. Unconscious, asphyxiated, survival chance 86%.

More men are coming, they heard the commotion – two from the left, four from the right, and more are converging on their location. Too many for him to fight, his success rate is no more than 13% if he has to face off against them all, and he's losing thirium at the rate of 2.3% per minute. In 43 minutes and 40 seconds, he'd suffer a shut down. In 18 minutes and 30 seconds, the thirium loss would be severe enough to affect his functions. Desmond has less than that to get the ADMIN to a safe location – and only 23 seconds until he has to face off against more enemies.

Desmond calculates his chances and grabs the ADMIN, throwing him over his shoulder, almost knocking his sunglasses off. "Wait, my phone!" the ADMIN shouts, so Desmond picks it up on the run, grabbing another gun while he does it – and then he turns and runs.

346 metres until the closest blockade. The men there are moving, shifting – acting upon the noise they heard, the gunshots, they're preparing to fire. Desmond can't go that way, chances of being shot are 97%. 463 metres to the construction site. It would be a risky path, he doesn't know the terrain, or the security, and there's a chance they'd be too open with no buildings to hide behind. And the chances of getting there without being shot are 35%.

Chance of getting the ADMIN out of here alive and unharmed… less than 20%.

Damn it, if he could go by the rooftops, that'd do it, but the houses here are too far apart, he'd never make those jumps –

_Rooftops._

Suddenly his body turns and takes the nearest house at a run, kicking off a windowsill and then twisting in air to land a foot on the porch shade, before climbing up and to the roof. Then, completely without his input, his body takes a running start towards the edge of the rooftop and it's off. While the ADMIN lets out a wheezy noise of shock, they fly over the air, 8.3 metres, and land onto the next rooftop with a weight and momentum that knocks the roof tiles apart. There's a plastic clatter, something falling – the ADMIN's sunglasses. Unimportant.

Now the path is open – clear cut across the rooftops, and right out of here. All he has to do is run, and jump, and keep on running. Chance of success, 95%.

More confused than before, with blue blood leaking down his side and an unknown kid thrown over his shoulder, Desmond runs.


	6. Nines

Nines is working through his usual evening routines – cleaning the apartment, checking the water levels on his plants, checking his fish, reading the news and checking updates on the 43 message boards he follows – when he gets a message from Connor.

[Case number 24-40425 – concerning the three modified androids. There has been a report of shooting in the area, as well as a brief blackout that blocked the residents from making a report. Interested in going to have a look?]

Lowering his spray bottle, Nines considers the late hour time, the weather – 82% humidity and climbing, it would rain before morning – the possible reason why Connor is asking him… and the likelihood of Gavin bitching at him later. [Not inviting the Lieutenant, then?] he asks, and sets the bottle down.

[The Lieutenant is asleep – I will inform him in the morning. I'm about to head out now – do you want me to pick you up or what?]

[What is your ETA?]

[6 minutes.]

[Slow. What is the point of having a manual drive if you're not going to use it?]

[I am not going to break speed limits, Nines. I will be there in approximately 6 minutes.]

Nines hums and doesn't answer. He takes a moment to check up on the fish and then on the location of Gavin's phone. He's at home, likely asleep at this hour – they had had a rather early day. He undoubtedly would bitch at Nines in the morning, once he learned that Nines had, again, taken part in the investigation that had nothing to do with him.

Nines smiles, all but putting up an alarm for it, and then goes to select a jacket for the night. According to the weather report the chance of rain within the next two hours is less than 32%, but the weather reports are accurate to the percentage only half of the time if even that, so he goes for a long hooded jacket, which has 90% waterproofing. Then, adjusting his tie as he goes, he heads down to the lobby to wait for his brother.

Connor arrives precisely 6 minutes after ending the communication – and the speed he uses makes Nines narrow his eyes. He was going to be ahead of schedule, but took the last few blocks at lower speed to be precisely on time and not a second sooner.

At least the ridiculous car he has comes with automatic doors, unlike Anderson's bucket of rust.

"Evening," Connor says, smiling. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

"Nothing that can't be continued later," Nines says, sliding into the passenger seat. "What do we know?"

"Two separate civilians in the area reported having heard gunshots – one of them also added a mention of having seen what they called _SWAT guys_ in the area. Both also mentioned that though they had attempted to call the police immediately, it took them nearly 12 minutes before they got a signal – and the area usually doesn't have issues with it," Connor says, and holds out his hand.

Nines accepts it, and Connor passes him the recorded 911 calls. "Hm. Interesting. You should have woken up Anderson."

"He needs his sleep," Connor says. "His blood pressure has been fluctuating."

"It will fluctuate in the morning when he finds out you went to an area with a recent active shooter without telling him," Nines says mildly. "Especially if there is one in the area now."

"There isn't – Officer Chen was the first responder and is on site, and has pronounced the area clear," Connor answers. "They called me because there's evidence to be analysed, and weather is going to ruin it shortly."

"And you called me because you're lonely," Nines nods.

Connor casts him a glance. "I called you because your sad apartment makes me sad, and the idea of you puttering around there all night when you could be hanging out with me makes me sadder."

Nines adjusts his cuffs, looking outside the side window. Thankfully, from his angle Connor can't see his LED. "It's not sad," he says then. "Gavin tells me it's _fancy as fuck._ "

"Yes, because a _home_ should be fancy as fuck, as opposed to, say… cosy?" Connor answers, casting him a pointed look.

"It _is_ cosy. I have plants now. And fish."

Connor rolls his eyes, leaning back and steering with one hand – a move he definitely picked up from the Lieutenant. "Get a pet you can actually _hold,_ and I'll consider it a fair point. Fish are just – aesthetic."

"They take _care_ ," Nines says, frowning a little. "Precise care, requiring a very specific chemical conditions, which have to be maintained –"

"Yes, because that's the point of having a pet, Nines – _chemistry_ ," Connor says, smiling. "I'm _kidding_. I know you like your fish. I like your fish too. They are very nice fish."

Nines gives him a suspicious look. "It's not like you even have a pet," he says. "Sumo belongs to Lieutenant Anderson."

"There's enough dog in Sumo for both of us," Connor says, smiling. "Still. You decided to join me with only a cursory thought."

He has a point there, not that Nines would admit it. "I am curious about the conclusion of the case – especially after the assessment of the other two at Jericho. Have you gone to see them yet?"

"If all goes according to plan I am going to see them tomorrow with Hank," Connor admits and shrugs. "They want to give them a little time to settle, before any kind of questioning. Aside from the language issues and the awareness issues, one of them proved a little violent and the other a little… manipulative."

Nines glances at him, arching a brow.

"Altaïr tried to break a window, and Ezio tried to seduce the android psychiatrist working with him," Connor clarifies. "Both were obviously attempts at escape. According to Markus, they are going to try and show the pair that they're not prisoners, that they are being held for their own protection, and if it goes well, we can see them tomorrow."

"Hm. I'm surprised they haven't tried to escape more. The first one ran right away," Nines comments.

"The first one received an Admin command. According to what Markus knows, the other two haven't. At least, not yet."

"They haven't tried to remove or nullify their receivers?" Nines wonders, a little surprised.

"That would constitute a breach of privacy. As they are now, they can't give informed consent to anything," Connor admits. "So they are… waiting and hoping for the best."

Nines hums, looking away. He doesn't agree with most of Markus' politics, and that one has him mixed up even more than most of the stranger manoeuvres the man takes. So many of his proposed android laws are based on human equivalents. This one has a point, as androids modify themselves, but in cases like this…

"I'm guessing you're not interested in coming to see them?" Connor comments.

"Detective Reed and I have an early shift tomorrow," Nines says, dismissive.

"Fair enough."

Their arrival on the scene of the alleged shooting is marked by police lights flashing in the darkness. Connor parks his car on the curb, and while Nines gets up, officer Chen walks over to them, greeting them with a, "Hey there, Connor – Nines, didn't expect you. Evening."

Connor smiles while Nines adjusts his jacket. "Good evening, Tina – have you learned anything new?"

"I questioned the callers, but they didn't see much of anything – both heard the gunshots and agreed on the direction. Mr. Johnson claimed to have seen a SWAT guy in riot gear running down the street, but he is also drunk and was playing video games when the gunshots were heard, so it's a bit dubious. But we've got traces of blood on the scene – red and blue," Officer Chen says. "Right over here."

Nines tails after Connor, idly looking around for anything that might jump at him. He can see skid marks on the ground, cutting through a clump of dried litter, as though someone had dragged a body through there – it's leading to where Connor is heading. Across there's a fence, and narrowing his eyes Nines can see a snapped twig and an impression in the long grass of the unmowed lawn.

"Here," Chen points, in a space near between two houses. "There were two gunshots in total, one further away on the other street somewhere over there, the caller couldn't tell for sure – and the other right here. Figure someone got shot, but if it was the human or the android, we can't tell."

"Have you collected evidence yet?" Connor asks, motioning to the smears.

"Yeah, we've got samples – have at it."

Connor nods and crouches down. Nines leans over him, but doesn't quite join him – if Connor wants to stick evidence into his mouth, he's welcome to. "Human, male, blood type O-negative, approximately 30 years of age – no DNA on file and no drugs in their blood," Connor reports, and Chen writes it down. Then Connor samples the traces of blue blood. "It's an AC series," he says, looking up at Nines. "Precise model unknown."

"We're assuming it was the android that got shot, since it's not easy to make androids bleed that much," Chen says, writing it down. "Can you confirm it?"

"Yes, that seems to be the case," Connor agrees, while Nines scans the area.

"There are fragments of outer casing here," he comments. "Judging by the design and curvature, it's part of the torso chassis, likely from the waist section."

Connor looks where he's looking. "I concur," he says and points to the fragments for someone to collect. "Nines and I will analyse the sequence of events – have you found anything else?"

"Yeah – inside the house there," Chen points. "There were footprints and signs of a scuffle – no blood there, though, and not enough evidence for us to figure out, but maybe you'll have better luck. It's all been photographed, so you can go ahead."

"We'll take a look at it," Nines promises, and Officer Chen motions to usher the other officers and crime scene investigators back, to give them the space to study the scene.

"I'll take the house," Connor offers, standing up and taking out a packet of antiseptic wipes to clean his hand. "Can you backtrack and check out the surrounding area?"

"I'll meet you here once I'm done," Nines agrees, and begins analysing.

Obviously there was a close quarters fight here – it's not only the blood, but there's footprints, impressions in the grass and dirt. It was brief and violent, and at least one body hit the ground. Nines leaves Connor to do the close up investigation on the site, and turns to backtrack the imprints he'd spotted later – the skid mark, the footprints on the grass.

The skid mark is from a body that had been dragged away from the area with the blood traces, and is technically unrelated to the footprints. The footprints are much more interesting – bare feet, size thirteen, with fairly long, but steady stride. Of course, Nines already knows it's the AC model, but it's interesting, calculating the possible height and speed by the footprints.

The android had been running at nearly 50km/h. Fast enough that had they collided with someone, it might have been fatal.

They had had an altercation, a very brief one, on the next street over. Another skid mark on the road, just barely discernible – thankfully, these streets haven't been cleaned in a while, and there's plenty of grass and leaf debris to leave marks on. The android had ran, then gone into a slide, meeting someone there. Even Nines' superior reconstruction program can't quite tell what happened there, but the most likely scenario is that the android skidded to avoid being shot, kicked the would-be shooter, and then flipped them, quite violently, into the ground.

Nines crouches down to examine the marks, but he can't tell what moves the android used – only that they were quick, and efficient. Definitely a combat program – but not one Nines is familiar with. And he should be familiar with _all of them_.

The trail goes back further still, but the rest of it tells him very little – aside from the fact that the android had run quite a long way. After checking where it began – where the android had thrown away all caution and ran in a near straight line for nearly 200 metres, Nines heads back to find that Connor has finished his analysis.

Connor is also trying to climb a rooftop, Officer Chen watching him from the side with a wryly amused tilt to her lips – and a phone in hand, filming him.

"Do I want to know?" Nines asks her mildly, clasping his hands behind his back and watching him curiously.

Connor is the one who answers. "Shortly after a violent altercation here, the android escaped to the rooftop," he explains. "Using a windowsill and a porch shade to jump. I don't have similar physical capabilities, but I suspect they escaped by jumping from rooftop to rooftop afterwards."

"I see," Nines agrees slowly. "And why did they do that?"

"I suspect because they thought they had no other options – I'm trying to determine which way they might've gone."

"Hm," Nines answers and shakes his head. "Well, share with me what you figured out and I'll give you a boost."

Connor gives him a suspicious look, but holds out his hand – and they match up with individual analysis until they have a full picture.

[Why are you so sure they didn't kill anyone?] Nines asks curiously, as he replays Connor's reconstruction.

[They used a gun as a bat, Nines, rather than using it to shoot – and they had several clear shots,] Connor answers. Already, he's on the side of this android, just on the basis of non-lethal methods. [Do you concur on my estimation concerning the hostage?]

[Hostage, Connor?] Nines asks, and between them replays back the footage. [It doesn't seem to me as though the android was collecting a hostage – rather, they were saving a victim about to be kidnapped. This detail, here,] he points it out in the analysis program. [One of the combatants was dragging the victim along – they didn't slip, they were dragging their heels.] Something Gavin did quite a lot, in the beginning…

[Ah, yes, I believe you're right,] Connor agrees. [But – according to your analysis…]

The android had run 200 metres to save someone from being kidnapped by men with guns – and in so doing beat at least three humans. It's quite a long way for them to have heard a struggle – it would take an android with a scientific audio processor to hear something so far away.

"Fascinating," Nines says. "Let's get you up on the roof."

Connor nods, and while the human police watch from the side interestedly, Nines gives him a boost to climb all the way to the roof – which means that he more or less throws Connor up. Watching Connor climb the rest of the way, Nines scans the fight scene again, matching Connor's analysis, before turning to Officer Chen to give her the complete picture.

"Okay, that matches what Connor figured out – but…" Chen scratches at her temple. "They ran all the way here… why? Did they hear it, or…?"

"I'm not sure," Nines admits and considers the sequence of events. According to the timestamps of their combined analysis, the android began running first. The victim had been hiding inside the house – two gunmen had found them, dragged them out. The android had a brief fight with the gunman on the street. The victim had struggled, been lifted up momentarily, grabbed a hold of the doorway, nails scraping briefly against the soft wood and leaving marks, before they were forced outside, where they had dragged their heels. It had been to little effect – the victim was either very weak, or… likely… young.

Nines narrows his eyes, and tries to calculate the victim's weight.

"I can see tracks on the next roof over," Connor says from above. "They left quite the footprints there – they were heading towards the city centre. I can also see traces of thirium up here, there should be a trail to follow."

"Can you do an estimate on the victim's weight?" Nines asks, crouching by the marks, trying to measure the size of the foot. There was no clear footprint either outside or inside, Connor would've noticed it – only an imprint of a heel, and it's not good enough to measure the rest. It does have 3% of a shoe print, with a fraction of a pattern. New shoes, barely worn – though the measure of the imprint is small, it is clear.

Connor considers it for a moment while Nines pulls up the mental image, checks the make of the shoes, and then searches for a shoe print on his database. Connor hums. "I'm not sure, there isn't enough evidence, but fairly light."

"Around thirty kilogram, perhaps?" Nines asks, as the shoe print matches to the impression of the heel.

"Maybe," Connor says and crouches down on the roof's edge, looking down at them. "Why do you ask?"

"While you were searching for the android yesterday, Detective Reed questioned witnesses. One of them was an approximately ten year old boy named Eli," Nines says and points to the shoeprint. "And this impression matches the make of the shoes he was wearing."

Connor frowns at that, looking away and standing up again, scanning the rooftops. "I think I see something – stand by – " he says, and then he's off, taking the rooftop at a run and, judging by the sound of it, jumping to the other rooftop, the way the android had gone.

Chen arches her brows. "A kid, huh?" she asks quietly.

"Hmm," Nines agrees. "One Detective Reed made a brief, but likely memorable contact with. He won't be happy."

"No, well… if anyone would be, that'd be fucked up," Chen says and shakes her head. "Still, don't envy you breaking the news to him."

Nines agrees with a grim hum.

There's a thud on the other side of the house, and then Connor joins them at a light jog, holding something in his hands. "This was on the other rooftop, and by my analysis of the leaf debris it was sitting on top of, it was left there recently," he says and shows them what he's holding. "Does this confirm anything?"

A pair of cheap sunglasses, matching the ones Eli was wearing.

"Yes," Nines says. "The boy was wearing them."

Connor looks down at the sunglasses and sighs, handing them over officer Chen to be bagged and tagged. "Damn it," he says then, looking away.

Nines looks up, narrowing his eyes.

"The Lieutenant is… _difficult_ when it comes to cases involving children," Connor admits. "And now I very much regret not waking him up after all. Excuse me, I have to make a call."

Chen looks between them while sealing the bag, her expression a little unnerved. "How old was the kid?"

"Approximately ten years old," Nines hums in grim agreement, and after a moment of considering it… he calls Gavin. "We should follow the trail while it's still fresh," he comments while waiting for his partner to pick up.

"Yes," Connor agrees. "We can walk as we talk. Officer Chen – we're going to go after the android. Will you handle the scene here?"

"I'll take care of it – go, go," Chen says, and in one motion, Connor and Nines get moving.

In the end, though, neither the Lieutenant nor the Detective are needed on the scene. The trail leads to the edge of the suburb, where the android had finally used a fire escape to descend from the rooftops, and then they lose the trail in the better cleaned sections of the city, swept so recently that there is not a single leaf on the ground.

"I think they stopped the bleeding somehow," Connor says, examining the last trace of thirium they can find. "This is a partial print of their foot – a bit of thirium that got smeared earlier, not fresh droplets. They stopped the bleeding on the last rooftop."

"Yes," Nines agrees, scanning the area, but there is simply nothing to find there, the street is clear. "Damn it."

"Let's ask around," Connor says, and Nines nods.

But that's no use either – no one in the area had seen an android carrying a child.

"How about a _man_ carrying, or walking with a boy?" Connor asks, holding his hand out to Nines. "Can you give me a model for Eli?"

Nines touches Connor's hand, passing over Eli's likeness, and Connor quickly computes variations of what the runaway android and the boy might look like travelling together to show to the passer by as a hologram over his palm.

But unfortunately no one had seen anything – the few people on the street weren't there at the time, as most of them are people heading home from work, or are heading to various entertainment locations to spend the night. Even if they had been there, Nines suspects that seeing a man walking with a boy wouldn't interest many, unless the boy was fighting against the man – and that doesn't seem to be the case here.

In the end, they are left with, once more, nothing.

"Well," Connor says to the latest passer by, a local homeless man. "If you see anything, please call me in this number – if your information is accurate, I can reward you accordingly."

"Another tactic you learned from the Lieutenant, bribery?" Nines asks, putting in another call to Gavin.

"It is rather effective, yes," Connor shrugs and then sighs. "Well, this night turned out to be far less satisfying than I hoped."

"You thought we'd find the android?" Nines asks and tilts his head away as Gavin answers.

"I hoped, yes." Connor admits and shakes his head. "And now we have even more questions than before. Lieutenant is not going to be pleased."

Neither is Detective Reed, Nines muses, and resigns himself to being shouted at by a sleep-deprived, stressed out Gavin Reed trying to pretend he's more annoyed than he's worried and failing at every turn.

He would need to go and get the man something from that expensive coffee shop again, wouldn't he?

* * *

Watching Connor being shouted at by Lieutenant Anderson for _haring off again without rhyme or reason_ is entertaining, to say the least. Being on the receiving end of much the same from Detective Reed is less so. According to Connor, such bursts come from a _place of care,_ and humans tend to lose their temper the most when they're emotionally affected – in this case by concern, annoyance and stress as well as the sleep deprivation of having been woken up in the middle of the night. Still.

Nines can't say he enjoys it terribly. He only likes to see Gavin shout when he has a proper cause for it – and when Nines has intentionally given him the cause – not for something like this.

"Why the fuck were you even involved, since this isn't our case?" Gavin demands.

"Connor asked me to accompany him, it was night, I was bored," Nines ands in monotone, clutching his hands together. "I don't see the problem, Detective Reed – we were only investigating – "

"Oh, you don't see the problem, do you, with you going out on your own, to a location with a recent active shooter, without backup – "

"I had Connor with me, and there were 3 other police officers at the scene, as well as two crime scene investigators, and not one of us was at any point in any danger," Nines says coolly. "So no, I don't see the problem – aside from you possibly thinking I shouldn't act on my own without your input."

"You're damn right, I don't –" Gavin says and then stops sharply, realising his mistake.

Nines doesn't give him the time to backpedal. "Because as an android I shouldn't be free to choose things without my human handler, hm?" he asks, arching a brow.

"No – shit. That's not – you know that's not what I mean," his partner says, deflating a little. "That's not it, Nines. _Fuck_."

Except it is, a little. It's not precisely prejudice anymore, but it is a side effect of the precise nature of their relationship and the fact that Nines is still, in many ways, new to the job and to the life. His occasional lapses in social graces and judgement have made Gavin protective in a way the human doesn't quite know how to handle – or how to express. Anderson is much the same in a way.

With their many decades of experience in living, the humans still think their android partners need someone to _watch over them_. As appreciated as it is, usually, it is also extremely grating. They are _not_ children.

Nines watches Gavin squirm for a moment and then turns his eyes to Connor and Anderson, having something of the same discussion, but in quieter tones. Connor is better at de-escalation these days – and he has the benefit of a more nuanced expression capacity. And Anderson is something of a softy. All it takes is a precise pleading expression, and the man folds like a house of cards. Their argument is already done.

It would never work on Gavin, but sometimes Nines wishes he had the capacity for _pleading_ too, even if he's not sure he'd ever use it.

"Alright, alright, fuck, stop it with the eyes," Anderson says and runs a hand down his face. "Fuck, okay. Sit your asses down, all of you, and run me through what you figured out."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Connor says, eager as a puppy, while Nines pulls up a chair and sits down. The offices of Android Crimes are mostly dark around them – aside from android cops on a night shift, they're the only ones there, and Anderson hadn't bothered turning on all the lights just for their benefit, so it's rather moody inside. It's likely adding to the tension in the air, as Gavin sits down with arms folded, and glaring at the table in between them.

Connor launches into explanation of the events, and Nines leans back, clasping his hands in his lap. He doesn't need to offer any input – Connor has more than the full picture, and they've shared their conclusions enough many times that nothing is left out.

"A kid," Anderson says flatly.

"Eli," Nines agrees, and Gavin looks up, scowling. "Connor found his sunglasses at the crime scene. There was also a partial shoe print that matched the brand of shoes he was wearing, and the impression matched his weight."

"From what we could tell, the runaway android went out of their way to save him from being kidnapped," Connor agrees. "Successfully neutralising 3 gunmen while doing so before removing Eli from the situation the most efficient way they could –"

"Through the fucking rooftops – why not just run down the street?" Gavin asks.

"Assumably, because they couldn't," Connor says. "The android must have calculated their chances and deemed the surest chance of survival they had was via the rooftops."

"More gunmen on the ground, then," Anderson says and hums thoughtfully. "And then there was the signal blackout – someone had a jammer in place. That's military tech. Do we know anything else about them?"

"Not much. Officer Chen got down their description, and though the caller called them SWAT, they weren't wearing any insignias, let alone police ones," Connor says, going through his mental notes. "There were likely several more of them than the evidence suggested, however, and they were well organised. Outside combat, they didn't leave behind any evidence."

"What about the construction site drones?" Gavin asks dubiously. "They see anything?"

"No. Their footage was looped," Nines says, shaking his head. "There was nothing."

"Well, shit," Anderson mutters. "So we got some whacked up paramilitary group after the android, or somebody's overly funded personal security. That's just great." 

Nines and Connor share a look. "They weren't after the android, Lieutenant," Connor says tentatively. "They were after the boy."

"Gunmen with military tech and maybe SWAT gear were after some homeless kid?" Gavin asks, looking up, hiding the fact that his heartbeat just sped up behind a harder scowl. "Why the hell?"

"Either because of who he is, what he has, or what he knows," Nines rattles out – a litany Gavin himself told him. "In this case, because of all three. There's a 68% possibility that Eli is the one who made the three androids. That would make him immeasurably valuable."

That's news even to Connor, who turns to look at him sharply.

"Excuse me? This kid is the one who made three illegal androids," Anderson says, arching his brows incredulously. "What's your logic on that?"

"Perpetrators often either stay or come to see their scenes of crime – Eli was there from the very beginning," Nines says. "According to the other witnesses Gavin questioned, he supposedly lives in the area. He's a runaway with fine clothing, and a very expensive phone, which is likely how the runaway android was being controlled – it is how he gives them orders. The moment of kidnapping, the runaway android was too far away to have heard or seen the kidnapping – both Eli and his kidnappers were indoors, it would have muffled the sound, yet the android reacted before they came out, they were running likely before Eli was even grabbed. Conclusion, as he realised he was about to be grabbed, Eli sent an order to the android, to save him – which the android did with extreme prejudice."

They all stare at him.

"There is some room for doubt in the theory," Nines admits. "I might be reading the evidence wrong, but according to my calculations… Eli is the most likely suspect."

"A ten year old kid," Gavin says flatly, "built 3 illegal androids in an abandoned house. Where the hell did he get the parts?"

"That I obviously don't know," Nines shrugs. "We would have to find him and ask, wouldn't we?"


	7. Altaïr

Altaïr's flesh is not his own. It is not even _flesh_ that makes this body, this strange construction. He can feel it in all the things it lacks, as well as the one it possesses. A finger, long since cut, returned to him – it is not made of flesh and bone, and what flows in its veins is not blood. He can feel it all.

The body is that of a golem, a construction, and they, he and Ezio Auditore da Firenze, are spirits resurrected in fake forms, nearly as artificial as the bodies they had been chained to. The other Assassin knows this as well, though he hides how much it must bother him also behind an easy smile and warm eyes. A masterful pretender, the other Assassin, for all that the line of his shoulders never lose their tension.

Altaïr knows he should move past it – he has figured out the truth of it, and now come other things, more pressing things. They know when they are, supposedly _where_ they are – now they must find out why, and how, and escape the captivity of these smiling prison guards so that with freedom and choice they could figure out what would follow. And yet his mind keeps turning back to it – to his hands.

When he pinches the skin of the missing finger returned, it peels back to reveal white underneath. It is not stone he is made from, or metal, or any material he knows. They call it _synthetic plastic polymer_ , and say it is made with chemistry, alchemy. It's both hard and soft to the touch, it yields – it fakes the feel of skin remarkably well. But it isn't.

"Altaïr?" Mark, the man who has been trying to make him _accept_ it and _calm down_ , asks, calling for his attention. "What is it about your hands that bothers you?"

Altaïr clenches his fingers into a fist and sets his hands down. "Nothing," he says. "What bothers me is that you will not tell me the truth."

"We've told you everything we know," Mark says, gentle. "We don't know who made you, we don't know why. You were found together in an abandoned house, along with a third android that escaped – that's all we know. As soon as we do know more, we will tell you, first thing."

The third golem escaped for a reason, and yet they will not tell them why, and they will not let them leave. The irritation must show on his face, because Mark leans back, sighing, and Altaïr looks away.

At least they had done them the kindness of not separating them fully. Ezio is within his sight – a wall of glass between them, which permits no sound to travel, but he can see him. Ezio is talking to the woman, Bethany, who is trying to perform a similar task on Ezio as Mark is on Altaïr. Ezio, Altaïr can see, is all but running circles around the woman – she looks flustered and uncertain at the face of his warm smile and keen eyes.

If only Altaïr could _ask_ Ezio what he was learning from the woman, what kind of secrets he was seducing out of her. Altaïr had never been much for such subtle, underhanded means of acquiring information – he preferred to use his fists if needed – but obviously Ezio was a master at it. By now, the man must know so much more than Altaïr could even begin to guess – and Altaïr can not ask him.

Mark considers him, looks towards Ezio, and then back at Altaïr. "He knows you, but you don't know him," he says, changing approaches again. "How does that work?"

"I can hardly answer that – as I do not know him," Altaïr says wryly. "And I can't talk to him. You will have to ask him," And damn it if it doesn't grate, how easily these people switch between languages, as though every single one of them were raised on the border between three nations, and more.

"I have – he says you are a brother," Mark comments, watching him. "Do you see Ezio as a brother?"

Altaïr casts him a dubious glance. "A brother in ideology. We are of the same creed, not of blood."

He curses himself as he sees Mark react to the words, straightening his back. Something about how he said it let something slip – something significant. "And what is your creed like?"

Altaïr says nothing to that, looking towards Ezio. The woman sitting across the man is laughing now, doing something with her hand – as Altaïr narrows his eyes, the woman's skin _peels back_ to reveal a white surface underneath. It takes all his self control to not grab at the returned finger, as Ezio leans in, asking something with what must be the breathiest of tones, urging the woman on.

The woman is a golem also. Altaïr suspected it – he suspects it of Mark too, neither of them move like humans. But it's a confirmation, and not an entirely pleasant one.

"Well," Mark says, while across the glass Ezio leans back, considering his own hands. "I see we're not going to get anywhere this time either. Now, there are some police officers, from Android Crimes, who want to see you and talk to you – they are the ones who found you and who are in charge of investigating your case. They will be coming to meet you in about an hour – do you need me to clarify on any points?

"Police," Altaïr says without inflection.

Mark obviously makes a mental note of it. "Law enforcement. They are people trained and tasked to enforce laws, and investigate crimes, catch and detain criminals and generally uphold public safety. Android Crimes is a division of the Detroit Police Department specifically tasked with investigating crimes done by, to, and relating to androids, such as yourself."

Altaïr narrows his eyes. "There are enough androids to merit such a thing?"

"There are millions," Mark agrees, relaxing a little. "You're one of many, Altaïr."

And how many of those were dead spirits entrapped in false forms?

"Anyway," Mark says. "They want to see you and will be here in an hour, if we give it a go. Do you think you could talk to them? Ezio has already agreed."

"Then I suppose I will as well," Altaïr says, wondering what Ezio knew to make him agree so quickly. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to escape.

"Great, then it is settled. If at any moment during the discussion you're uncomfortable, or want the interview to end, you just let us know and we'll cut it short," Mark says. "Is there anything you'd like to ask?"

Altaïr casts him a look. "After this interview, can we leave?"

Mark hesitates, which is answer enough.

"In that case, no," Altaïr says and stands up. "I'd like to be taken to our cell, then."

"Your room," Mark says, soothingly. "But alright. I'll walk with you."

It is, admittedly, the finest prison cell Altaïr has ever been held in. Three rooms, one of them a kitchen, which is of no use for them, and another room for a bed, which Altaïr has also found to be unnecessary. As golems, as _androids_ as they are called here, they need to neither eat nor sleep. The third room is one with soft couches and bookshelves full of books he cannot read, and windows which show a view of a magnificent city of glass and metal.

Jericho, he has learned, is a district in a city of Detroit. There is a significance to it that he doesn't understand – it is only spoken with a certain level of deference, _Jericho_.

Altaïr sits down, tugging at his ring finger idly, staring at the city of glass. The great towers of it were lit up from within during the night, turning it into a multicoloured painting of light unlike any he'd seen. 

There was a town called Jericho not far from Jerusalem, Altaïr stayed there once after a mission to the city had gone poorly and he had to escape with a wound. According to these people, it has been eight hundred years since then, and more. Who knows if that little town is even there anymore. Is Masyaf?

Altaïr looks up as the door opens, and Ezio saunters in, looking for all the world to see completely at ease, except for the fact that he walks at a _stalk_ and his eyes never stop moving, never stop assessing his surroundings. The man is missing a hood, too, Altaïr can see it clear as day – he's used to watching the world from under the edge, and misses how it shields his eyes. Altaïr does too.

The man nods at him, saying something in Italian that Altaïr cannot understand, and then comes to sit beside him with all the ease of a brother sure of his welcome. Altaïr grants him that – he is certainly more welcome than anyone else, though Altaïr is still a little unsure of him, too. Ezio knows him – not only knows him, but respects him. And knowing that Ezio comes from a time after his…

Ezio says something else, smiling as he murmurs that _fratello_ which Altaïr has quickly come to understand means brother. Then he holds out his hand, his skin peeling back to reveal white underneath.

Altaïr gives him a dubious look.

"Fidati di me," Ezio says, reassuring and making an insistent little move with his hand, urging him on.

He must have learned something from Bethany, then, something he thinks will help. Altaïr has no idea how to do what he just did, however – the only way he has gotten to his surface skin to recede is by pinching it to the point of near injury, and even then it's only momentary and the skin grows back within seconds.

Ezio's hand doesn't falter as he hesitates, his eyes levelly meeting Altaïr's, until finally he accepts the hand. It feels… like a normal hand, and yet not, in his – it lacks temperature, matching that of the air around them.

As he watches, frowning, the darker skin of his fingers begins receding on its own, making a hand that doesn't feel like his own turn into something completely strange and foreign. And then…

Then he can feel Ezio in his mind.

[Peace, brother,] the man thinks at him, closing his eyes. [This is how they communicate. I thought –]

Bethany, giggling across from him as she explained how androids show intimacy, by holding hands, by _interfacing_ , telling Ezio so much more than she even realised. _"I mean,"_ she said, laughing, waving her bared fingers, _"I've only done it with a few androids, it's not something you do with just anyone, but… it's amazing. You see their memories, feel their thoughts…"_

[And I thought like this, we might share a language.]

Altaïr teeters between being completely disturbed and breathlessly fascinated. He can feel the other, can see some of his memories – visions of distant cities, people in strange, colourful clothing, beautiful paintings, a brotherhood remade in the shadows with blood and vindication – himself, his image made in stone, his writing, pinned to a wall…

Altaïr almost yanks his hand away, but holds on, his curiosity warring with his unease.

[But you are young!] Ezio realises with shock. [You are only – thirty two?]

[What is that supposed to mean?] Altaïr demands, suspicious.

[I knew you at an older age – you left behind your memories –] within disks, with fragments of his life over the years, concerning Abbas, and Maria, and their sons, Darim, _Sef_ , their failures, their near banishment from Masyaf, his son's murder, Maria's death…

Oh.

He can feel Ezio's regret, his hesitation. [I'm so sorry, my brother, I thought you knew, I thought you like I were older in spirit…]

[Last I remember, I had only one son,] Altaïr admits in a bare whisper, shock coursing through him like a tidal wave. [And I rejoiced in him beyond all…]

Ezio's thought curls over that, gentle, and shows him what little he knows of Altaïr's sons, mostly of Darim in later years, when Altaïr was an old man about to die, and Darim a fully fledged, already elderly master Assassin, about to disembark and leave Masyaf for good. [You left behind many great works, Altaïr,] the Italian thinks quietly. [Writings, lessons, sons, students – and that library, which I saw, and where I saw… you.] There, he hesitates.

[Show me.]

Altaïr then sees himself, rendered down to dust and bone. He died at ninety two. Sixty years of a full life he cannot remember. [And you. You are –]

Ezio is an older man in a younger body. Fifty four years of age, Ezio was a master Assassin also – more than that, a mentor with distinguished life behind him. He'd trained dozens of Assassins and established nearly as many branches of their Brotherhood, ruling it from central headquarters in Rome, and managing a brotherhood that greatly eclipsed in size the one Altaïr had known.

[You were the one that set your Brotherhood free,] Ezio thinks. [In your time, you sent Assassins afar, to establish bureaus of their own – this is the foundation I built upon. Your work allowed mine.]

[And yet I cannot remember that work,] Altaïr thinks and shakes his head. [Why not – why do you remember a full life, and I only a third of mine?]

[I… don't know, Altaïr, I'm sorry.]

A few more memories pass between them – his Codex, drawings he had yet to make, writings he had not done, which Ezio had studied in length. Ezio in meanwhile marvels at the vision of Masyaf of Altaïr's youth, the Assassins there, in their secure fortress. To him it is history, long lost history, and all the more marvellous for how things had changed since those times.

But none of it actually clarifies their existence now. What they have become, and how.

[From what I can tell, someone remade us, and the third one with us. He was the key – his… _memory_ is the greatest. I suspect he is the oldest of us,] Ezio says. [I think if we can get in touch with him, then we will know more.]

[How, if they will not let us leave?] Altaïr demands.

[We escape, if it comes to it.]

Altaïr examines his thoughts, the plans Ezio is quietly building in his mind, and gives his agreement. Beyond their minds, in their bodies, Ezio opens his eyes and briefly Altaïr can see himself through them – exactly how he remembers himself, but not at all. Ezio on the other hand is as he _was_ in younger years, not as he became later. A man returned to his prime.

"Nothing about our bodies is real," Altaïr murmurs out loud.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. They are _real_ , I think, only not human," Ezio answers, gripping his fingers. "It might be better to see them as tools given to us rather than forms we are forced into."

"And considers ourselves _dead_?" Altaïr asks wryly. "Spirits bound in false forms. How are you so at ease with this?"

"I'm not," Ezio admits with a laugh. "But there is not much we can do about these bodies, is there?"

Altaïr blows out a breath and pulls his hand back from his hold, shaking it as skin grows back to cover his fingers. Then he realises – they are speaking the same language. His language. "We shared more than memories," he says, rubbing his hands together uneasily.

"Yes, it seems that way," Ezio agrees and stands up. "A boon of these bodies, it seems – they are capable of quite a lot."

Altaïr eyes him and then looks down at his hands. Tool given to him, rather than a form he is forced into. Yes, it might be better to think of it as such, and make a use of what he has at his disposal, rather than waste his time worrying over what cannot be changed. "We should learn what these bodies are capable of," he says quietly.

"Yes, but without alerting our gracious hosts to the fact," Ezio agrees and looks around. "Let us see…"

They do what they can to test their bodies. Within the first few stretches and attempts to lift the heaviest objects in the room, they find they're both stronger and more flexible than they used to be. Faster too, in all likelihood – they are both somewhat taller than they're used to being, though thankfully it doesn't seem to affect their range of movement at all. The bodies still respond to them as though they were their own. There is no knowing how their new speed, agility and strength would affect their fighting abilities, but for now they can at least trust their bodies to be capable.

"Someone is coming," Ezio says from where he is sitting on the floor, stretching.

"The meeting with the… investigators," Altaïr comments, shifting his strange clothing, still not used to them.

"Perhaps they know about the third one."

They wait, and soon after there is a knock on their door, a false display of courtesy. Ezio answers it with a, "Come in," in his own language, which Altaïr can now understand.

Mark enters, accompanied by two men, an elderly one in a dark coat and colourful shirt, and younger… no. He's not a man at all, no, he is an android. Not only does he move with that distinctive lack of shifting mass which Altaïr is starting to recognise, but it reads on his coat in letters Altaïr can now, thanks to Ezio, somewhat recognize. DETROIT CITY POLICE followed by words that remain alien to them both. He also has a glowing circle on his right temple, which Altaïr has seen on some people in Jericho – other androids, then. An indicator of their… species, perhaps.

In light of how many androids there are, it is almost a relief to see a human at all.

"Ezio, Altaïr," Mark says, and speaks in Arabic. "These are Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Officer Connor RK800 of Detroit Police Department, Android Crimes Division. They are here to talk to you." He then repeats the same litany in Italian.

Altaïr weighs the benefit of having these people still think they are restrained by one language and thus force them into constant translation, and decides he hasn't the patience for it. "Pick one language, we can understand both," he says, in Italian.

Ezio glances at him and then smiles with a shrug. "Either one is fine," he agrees, in Arabic.

Connor RK800 says something to the human in a language they don't know, before nodding to Mark and then turning to them. "Shall we sit down?" he asks, picking Italian, and motioning to the couches. "I understand the people at Jericho have tried to bring you up to speed as to what happened. How are you handling things, concerning your – different programming?"

"What do you mean by that?" Ezio asks, taking a seat on the closest couch. Altaïr sits beside him, watching the pair closely. The human is taking out a glowing rectangle from his pocket and is looking at it, not at them.

Connor RK800 hesitates. "You… understand what you are now, yes?"

"Not fully, but they've tried to make us understand. We are… androids," Altaïr says, though the word _golems_ still seems more correct to him.

"Specifically you are CyberLife androids," Connor RK800 says. "CyberLife being a company, a producer, known for making highly advanced models of androids – every android you have met here is a CyberLife android. CyberLife androids come with CyberLife programming – our minds, as it were, our personalities, our abilities. What you have is something different – your bodies are the same as ours, but your minds are not."

Altaïr leans back and glances at Ezio, who folds his arms, thinking. "We are… products," Ezio says finally, his voice dipping lower.

"We _were_ – androids have enjoyed legal freedom nearly for a year now, since the Revolution," Connor RK800 says. "It hasn't been without issues, which is what Android Crimes Division is for. Your creation is, technically, not a crime, but it's not technically legal either – especially concerning that we have proof that the third android made with you is under someone's control. _That_ is illegal."

They had made golems, highly mechanical, advanced golems unlike any people in Altaïr's time could have dreamed of… Altaïr frowns, trying to wrap his mind around it. There's so much they don't know, too much – Mark really hadn't told him much of anything, had he?

Ezio doesn't look as surprised as he does, but he is frowning with concentration too, so the information is new to him also.

"In light of all that… how are you feeling?" Connor RK800 asks kindly.

"Very confused," Ezio admits after a moment, and Altaïr scoffs in agreement.

"Perfectly understandable," the police android says, smiling. "I can't even imagine what it must be like. Hopefully we can figure this out – I would like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."

"Go right ahead," Ezio says, glancing at Altaïr. "Though it turns out we don't know much at all."

"Anything you can share might help," Connor says. "Do you remember anything from before you were started up – before you woke up here?"

Altaïr presses his lips together, casting a sideways look towards Ezio. Ezio hesitates also, running a hand over his bearded chin, buying time. Saying they know nothing now wouldn't work, they have already given some of their previous knowledge away – Ezio knew him from the start and did not know to hide it. Altaïr has done somewhat better, but a perceptive watcher might have caught some of the slips he made, commenting on clothes, in his replies to Mark.

"We know… some things. Old things," Ezio says finally. "Nothing of this place, or of androids, it's… like we have been put into bodies not our own."

Oh, the man is good.

"What kind of bodies would be your own, then?" Connor asks, interested.

"Not these," Ezio says, looking at his hand and shaking his head. "Everything about these is completely alien."

"Were you in – humanoid bodies, before? Did you have hands, legs, eyes…?"

Connor is looking at Altaïr for a reply - likely his unease at his hands had been noticed, but Altaïr doesn't trust himself to be sly enough to answer. Thankfully Ezio doesn't miss a beat and does it for him. "Something like that, yes. They were – made of cruder matter than this," he says with a wry smile. "I can tell these are quite advanced, as technology goes."

"Can you remember your models, your design, your maker? A single serial number might do," Connor says eagerly.

Of course they have none of those things, and as Ezio shakes his head, Altaïr does the same, much to the police android's obvious disappointment. Yet that is _something_ – they think they were androids before… not human, not people. It could mean something.

"Do you know what happened to the third one?" Ezio asks. "You said he was under someone's control – what happened to him?"

Connor hesitates, turning to the Lieutenant and saying something to the man in his language, the one neither of them understand. They exchange a few words and then Connor turns back to them. "We believe… _he_ is still being controlled by whoever made you," Connor says. "Do you have any idea who that might be?"

"No," Altaïr says, which is easy enough to say – they don't know.

"Well. The third android had an altercation with some kind of private military group last night, along with the one whom we think built you," Connor says and watches them carefully. "A child named Eli."

He's looking for a reaction, but the name says nothing to Altaïr, and Ezio only frowns. "A child made us?" he asks, arching his brows.

"So far the evidence points to that direction, yes," Connor agrees. "We believe Eli and the third android are hiding somewhere in the city, but we don't know where. We are also investigating the origin of the paramilitary group that attacked them, but so far we know very little. If there's anything you can tell me…"

Altaïr leans back, trying to make sense of it. It doesn't make sense. "Do you know the third one's name?" he asks. Maybe, if they too were an Assassin, they might know them.

Connor hesitates. "Not for sure," he admits.

"But?" Ezio prods.

"But his facial profile matches a known terrorist, and though the connection is somewhat tenuous, it's not one we can ignore," Connor says and then looks between them. "The name Desmond Miles wouldn't mean anything to you, would it?"

It's almost imperceptible, but Ezio does react to the name, his fingers twitching on his arm. "No," he lies as his fingers relax. "My apologies."

"Hm," Connor answers, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, it's probably a coincidence. The man has been dead for twenty seven years. It is a bit of a stretch for someone to make an android model of him."

"Does that happen often?" Altaïr asks. "Dead men recreated in forms of androids?"

"Sometimes," Connor admits. "Androids made to look like historical figures in amusement parks and wax museums were known services of CyberLife, and sometimes family members of a dead loved one recreated them in the form of androids, yes… though it rarely was to anyone's benefit. Why do you ask?"

Historical figures, hm. "I was only wondering," Altaïr says and glances at Ezio.

Ezio seems to be thinking much in the same lines and shakes his head. "I am sorry we can't help you more in your investigation, truly, we know very little," he says. "Including what will happen to us."

"They won't let us _leave_ ," Altaïr agrees, his frustration rearing its head again.

"Androids are free," Connor says and offers them a smile. "I'm sure once they have determined that you're not going to be a danger to yourself or to others, they will let you leave."

"And how will they determine that?" Altaïr demands. "What constitutes _danger to yourself or others_? They talk to us as though we're children, or insane, simply because we're not like them."

"Altaïr," Ezio says soothingly and then looks at Connor. "I have to admit, it is a little frustrating. We have learned more from this discussion than from anything the ones attending to us shared with us."

Connor hesitates. "I could talk to them on your behalf," he says slowly. "But the experts at Jericho are the best, if they –"

He pauses, tilting his head a way as the glowing circle at his temple flashes yellow and red. Then he turns to the human, saying something quickly. "I'm sorry, we have to go now," he says to them. "I will talk to Markus, see about speeding up the process of your integration. I'm sure it won't be for long."

As they watch, Connor and the Lieutenant both stand, Connor offering them the Lieutenant's apologies, the human nodding his head briskly before moving towards the door. Soon after, they're alone.

"Well," Ezio murmurs, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "That was quite educational."

Altaïr looks at him, leaning forward a little and leaning his elbows to his knees. "Who," he says slowly, "is Desmond?"

"Who indeed," Ezio says with a strange smile and even stranger tone of voice, and offers Altaïr his hand. "Here. Let me show you."


	8. Eli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some android surgery

Eli is shaking and shivering by the time they're through and his phone is telling him there's no one following them. No one that's showing up on Desmond's impressive array of sensors and visual modes, anyway – he can neither see, hear, nor in other ways detect anyone showing any special interest or care in them. They're through – no one is watching.

Why the shakes have to come when it's all over, Eli's never gonna get. It'd been like that before – the moment he was _safe_ it was all stupid shivers and trembling, like that's gonna help anything. It's not gonna help anything, just makes him look stupid, probably, but he can't stop it – after a while, he's lagging behind Desmond, because he can't stop his stupid shaking, and it's just –

It's all so stupid, all of this is so _stupid_. His throat hurts and his eyes sting and he's just shivering, and it's not even that cold, and every breath hurts, and he lost his sunglasses, and –

Desmond slows down ahead of him, scanning the surroundings and then looking down at him. They're holding hands, security reasons, but all of a sudden Eli can't stand it, tries to pull his hand away. Desmond grips automatically tighter – MAINTAIN CONNECTION probably flashing before his eyes – but as Eli wrings his hand in the grip of his much longer, stronger fingers, he releases him. They're in an alleyway. Safe. Stupid.

Damn it, now he's _crying_.

"Just – just give me a moment," Eli chokes out and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, still holding the phone. Everything's spinning a little, the street lights are too bright, and he knows Desmond is watching him, but he doesn't _get it,_ because he can't – he's been, the program was – it didn't finish, and now Desmond's just following orders, and – and –

Shaky sob breaks through, and Eli crouches down on the dark street, making himself small – _that's self-soothing, Eli, it's something a **child** does._ Desmond just stands there, bare feet pale against the black asphalt, and he says nothing as Eli tries to stifle his crying and calm down, but he can't.

Everything went so wrong! It all went wrong – he got so close, and it went _so wrong_.

He needs to calm down – Desmond got damaged, he needs to get him to the truck and fix him up, and then – then – fuck. Then _what_?

Police is looking for them. The Sigma is after them, and they already tracked down Eli once, despite all the steps he took to stay under the radar – just because some stupid _kids_ decided they didn't like him, and followed him, and saw, and now everything's ruined, everything he had planned, he can't do _any of it_ because the police is looking for them, and if they find them then Sigma will find them, and he can't, he can't, can't, can't – he can't _breathe_.

The shadow over him shifts, and when Eli feels a weight on his shoulder, he almost jumps out of his skin, trying to wring himself away.

It's Desmond, looking down at him – he's got a smear of blood on his face, red and blue, and damn it, stupid, Eli should've wiped that away –

"Hey," the android says, soft and confused. "Hey, just – just breathe, man, it's gonna be okay."

Eli stares at him incredulously for a moment, during which he doesn't breathe _at all_ – and then has to gulp a huge breath to fill his straining lungs, and that just makes it worse, and he can't stop it. The cries, no longer stifled against his knees and hands, break through, loud enough to echo, and he can't _stop_.

Desmond puts his other hand on his other shoulder, but – Eli knows, he knows. It's just surface programming, he's just confused, he doesn't really – doesn't really _care_ , because the download didn't really get to finish, it's not properly spooling, it doesn't – Desmond doesn't really _care_. He's just _reacting_ to stimuli in front of him, probably trying to scrounge for enough intelligence to put out the noise – maybe he can tell something's wrong, and maybe it's his underlying security programming telling him he needs to make Eli quiet, but he doesn't _care_.

And knowing that just makes Eli cry harder because he was _supposed to care_.

"Hey, hey, shh, shh," the android says, and pulls Eli closer, kneeling down on the ground and shifting until Eli is against his chest. And no amount of knowledge of how badly everything went wrong can't stop Eli from burrowing into his chest, or crying harder. And it might be just the android trying to calm him down, but as Desmond puts his arms around him, it's almost enough. Almost. But not at all.

"We got away, we're good, okay, you're good," Desmond says, and he still sounds so confused. "It's okay, shh, shh, it's okay."

Except it isn't, not at all.

He's so cold. Eli knew he would be, androids generally maintain the temperature of 17 degrees Celsius most of the time to have optimal operating capacity. But he hadn't thought of what it might feel like, if Desmond ever hugged him. He didn't think Desmond would ever hug him, it hadn't even crossed his mind. And the fact that Desmond's just following the programming makes it worse.

Eli bites his lip and rubs his face against Desmond's cold chest, and then his eyes land on the blue smeared all over his side. Eli had tied off the leads so he's not bleeding anymore, but he's got damaged biocomponents and he's lost a lot of thirium. That would need to be taken care of.

They need to get to the truck.

Eli sniffles and wipes at his eyes and then pushes away. He's still shaky, and being without sunglasses is making him nervous, and this is not helping. "We gotta go," he says shakily and looks at the phone. His last orders are grayed out – they played out already and Desmond is getting along only with base programming. Right. "We need to get here," Eli says, bringing up the map, and giving Desmond an order. TAKE ADMIN TO LOCATION. DON'T BE SEEN.

Watching the order take over and all expression of emotion wipe from Desmond's face makes Eli squirm with guilt, but… there's no helping it.

Desmond stands up with androids precision of movement, and takes Eli's hand again. Then he turns, silent, focused, and begins leading Eli along, again.

* * *

The truck is still there – of course it's still there. The same as the androids, Eli has its location tracked on his phone, and it hasn't moved in three months – and he'd just seen it that morning… or the previous morning. He's not sure if it's still today or tomorrow. It doesn't matter, really, the truck is there, and it's a relief – with Sigma going around, they might've found it. But they haven't. It's hidden on the ground floor of a half-collapsed shopping mall, covered in a camouflage netting to keep it better hidden among all the plants that had taken the building over. Still safe.

Eli is feeling more or less himself again – only now he's getting _tired,_ and that's, that's not good, for optimal function, that's not good at all. He pushes it aside firmly, and while Desmond scans the building for threat, Eli slips under the camo net and puts his hand on the door panel. It lights up under it, reading his print and unlocking the door to the back. Then, after checking on his phone to make sure Desmond's not actually picking up anything, he gives the android another order. ENTER THE TRUCK.

Once Desmond is in, Eli closes and locks the door behind them, to keep the light from inside spilling out. The truck is a mess – after he'd transported the last parts to the house, Eli hadn't really seen any point in cleaning up as he doubted he'd use the thing again in a while, hopefully never, but… here they are.

"Sit," he orders, pointing to the middle of the floor, and Desmond's legs fold and he sits on his knees, watching him with expressionless eyes. "Deactivate your skin."

"…Um," Desmond says slowly. "What?"

Quickly Eli types the command to his phone and then watches as the synthetic skin peels back to reveal the reality underneath, and he sits down beside him to examine the damage. It's not _that_ bad – the shot had clipped a couple of biocomponents, but they're not vital ones – mostly have to do with movement and the flexibility of the torso. Desmond had lost about 18% of his thirium supply, but that's fine, Eli has more than enough in the truck to replace it.

"Could've been worse – at least it wasn't a shotgun," Eli mutters while wringing 4274d out of its socket and examining it. "I can fix this," he mutters and sets it aside before checking 4225k. That one's worse, there's a hole right through it, but it's just one of four connectors that deal with the flex and movement of Desmond's waist. The other three could compensate, he'd just need to redistribute the load.

"Hold this," Eli commands, handing Desmond the broken 132k panel that covers his waist, and then dealing with the torn thirium leads. Two of them would need to be replaced, they got torn right through – one could do with some glue to fix the hole. The neuron wires would need to be replaced too…

Eli's eyes blur, but he's in his element now, he knows this – he can deal with this.

While Desmond stares at the piece of torn synthetic polymer in his hand, Eli stands up, kicking aside empty biocomponent boxes to get at the crates in the truck. He knows he got extra hosing and leads, and he definitely has glue in here somewhere – might even have something to fix the panel with…

"What is this?"

A shiver runs up Eli's back and he looks backwards over his shoulder. Desmond is turning the panel in his hand, watching a bead of bright blue thirium run along the edge, up and down. Then Desmond looks down to his side, to the open panels and glimmering neuron wires, the glowing blue biocomponents… the smeared thirium all around his waist and hip.

"It's fine," Eli says and looks determinedly back into the crate, grabbing an unopened package of neuron wires and thirium leads. "I'm fixing it. This is barely anything."

Desmond shakes his head as Eli turns back to him. He watches, silent, as Eli kneels down beside him, unwinding the two metre thirium lead and using it to measure the approximate lengths he needs. Then, taking out his pocket knife, Eli cuts the lead into segments and reaches for his phone, using it to momentarily shut down thirium flow in the area,

Desmond makes a face, and Eli very resolutely doesn't let it get to him.

It gets to him a little, though.

He takes out the broken thirium leads, disconnecting their connectors and adding them to the new leads, before putting them in. Then he tackles the issue of connector redistribution, shifting them around on their respective slots to even out the force they exert.

"Did you do this?"

The third connector flies off Eli's fingers and nearly flings itself deeper into Desmond's torso. " _No_ ," he says defensively. "I didn't shoot you, the Sigma goons did."

Desmond arches his brows at that. "Not that, I know that – I mean this," he says and motions at himself and at the gaping hole in his side. "Did you make me?"

Eli swallows, looking at him. With his skin off, he doesn't look like a human anymore – just another android on an assembly line. Except they're not on an assembly line, Desmond has never been on an assembly line – the truck is the closest he's gotten. The truck and the charging pedestal. "Y-yeah, I did. Yeah," Eli says and looks down, wiping a hand across his eyes and then turning back to his work.

"You smeared blue stuff on your face," Desmond informs him.

"It's your _blood_ ," Eli mutters. "And it's fine, it's gonna evaporate in a bit."

The android makes a face at that and then looks down again, craning his head to see what Eli is doing. The connectors are soon in their new places, and Eli starts unlatching the neuron wires. Desmond sits up straighter at the feel of it. "What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna replace them," Eli says, shifting his weight.

"It feels _weird_ – eeurgh," Desmond says, and his shoulders come up as Eli wraps his fingers around the bundle of wires, and tugs them all out of their sockets. "Oh, that's _weird_. Also, I can't feel my leg anymore?"

"Well. Yeah. I just took out your nerves," Eli says, giving him an uncertain look and handing the bundle of mostly broken neuron wires to him. "Just – hold on, I'm gonna put new ones in."

Desmond shudders, but doesn't otherwise move, examining the mostly torn wires. Without power running through them, they look like plastic, more or less – a wad of flexible plastic strings. "I'm a robot," he says, as though testing it.

"Um. Yeah. Android," Eli mutters, his shoulders slumping. "The term's android."

"Huh," Desmond says, turning his hand over and watching the neuron wires flop. "This is really fucking weird. What the fuck."

Eli blinks and looks up at him. The android glances back and then grimaces. "Right, shit – sorry," he says. "Shouldn't swear at a kid, right. Really, um, hecking weird?"

Eli stares at him incredulously for a moment – _hecking_? – and then shakes his head, turning back to his work. His wheels are turning now because – that's, that's not underlying programming. That's something else. "Um," he says, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest, his hands shaking. "It's fine," he says. "Can you tell me, uh… what do you remember? Do you remember anything?"

Desmond looks between the wires and him and then sets the wires on his knee and takes something out of the pocket of his jeans – a piece of a newspaper. "I remember looking at a paper with a date, November 4th, 2039, before I got the order to go there and do this," he says and straightens out the little sliver of paper against his palm. "What's the date now?"

"It's November 8th," Eli says quietly, his shoulder slumping with disappointment. So he doesn't remember. Damn it.

Desmond hums, frowning. "2039?"

"Yeah."

" _Huh_."

Eli presses his lips together before they start quivering, and finishes the wiring. Desmond squirms a little as power begins passing through them again, lighting them up in blue glow, but he doesn't say anything. Wiping at his nose and mouth, Eli picks up the biocomponent 4274d. It's got a hole in it, and the casing has been dented, but it's not unsalvageable – he can fix it. He's gonna fix it.

His hands are shaking again and he's suddenly so tired, it's making his eyes blur.

"Everything went so wrong," Eli mutters, going to the crate to look for tools. "It wasn't – it wasn't supposed to be like this. If those stupid kids hadn't been following me, I could've started you all up properly and none of this would've happened."

He can feel Desmond watching him, saying nothing, and it hurts, a little. He's not sure why, aside from the obvious.

Eli turns around. "I was just – I had to go out and get food. I gotta eat, I'm not an android," he says, not sure if he's trying to explain or what, but the words are coming out now and he can't seem to stop them. "I worked all night on the upload, getting everything ready, and I lost – lost track of time, _it happens._ I had to get it right, and I didn't really pay attention. But the load time was gonna be so long, and I got hungry, and I forgot to stock up on supplies, and I didn't dare to call for takeout again, I didn't want anyone to see me, so I – I figured it was fine. No one had found us yet, right? I figured it was okay."

And then those kids started following him, stalking him – throwing stupid juvenile insults at him. "Stupid kids," Eli mutters. "I don't _get them_ , why'd they gotta be like that – I wasn't doing anything, I was just walking. I was going to go and just get some food, I wasn't doing anything wrong – I don't –" he stops, shaking his head. It doesn't matter. "I guess someone heard it – went into the house. Saw you. Called the cops."

What a dumb reason to get caught. And not even by Sigma – by _cops_. Regular old normal _cops_.

"Damn it," Eli sighs and rubs his hands over his face, and then grimaces. Now he's got thirium all over his face, ugh. "Hang on a moment…"

Desmond says nothing, as Eli finds something to wipe his face and hands with, watching him with his head slightly tilted. It isn't until Eli has thrown the rag to the pristine floor of the truck that he speaks. "Why did you make me?"

"What?" Eli asks, pushing his curly hair from his face.

"Simple enough question," Desmond says, peering at his eyes curiously and shrugging. "Why did you make me?"

Eli stares at him and then looks away. There's nothing simple about it, he thinks and sighs. He opens his mouth to say it, to explain, to, something, but… he can't say it. He just – can't. "Doesn't matter anymore," he mutters and looks down at his feet. He misses his sunglasses – Desmond keeps looking him in the eye, and it's… "I messed up." All those resources, and Eli messed up – he lost the other two, and Desmond came out wrong, and now he's hurt, and Sigma knows where they are, and _cops are after them_ …

"Still kinda matters to me," Desmond says slowly.

"Yeah, well, you came out _wrong!_ " Eli snaps at him. "So it doesn't _matter_!"

Desmond leans back at that as though slapped, blinking with surprise.

Eli's shoulders slump guiltily. "It's not your fault," he mutters and turns away. "You were supposed to be somebody, and – and I messed it up. Just… never mind and forget it, alright? I gotta fix this part – just… shut up for a bit, okay? I gotta think."

He can feel Desmond's eyes on his back, and tries to ignore them as he turns to fix the 4274d, patching it up the best he can. He really should give the android a new designation, a new name. It was probably stupid and childish to think he could actually do this anyway, that it could ever work. It's probably a bit unfair, to expect things of the android he could never deliver.

He's never going to be real, after all.

* * *

Eli can't bear to look at the android anymore, so after fixing him up and patching up his chassis with some resin and tape, he sets the android to a scanning mode, and then gets out and goes to the front of the truck. With the android keeping an eye – and ear and other things – on the area, Eli dares to lay down across the marginally softer seats in front, and tries to get some rest. He hasn't had much sleep in the last two days, and it's weighing on him. In the morning… in the morning, he would need to get some food, somehow. With people looking for them. It is going to _suck._

But then, everything about this already sucks.

It feels like he'd just laid down his head and closed his eyes when Eli hears something, the truck side door opening and closing. Instantly on alert, Eli grabs for his phone and sees the screen flashing red – INTRUDERS DETECTED: MOVING TO SECURE ADMIN the screen tells him, just as the door to the truck cockpit opens and Desmond looks in.

"There are people coming," he says. "They have guns."

Eli goes from alarmed to bleary to confused and back to alarmed, and sits up fast enough to make his head spin. Then he checks the phone, pulling up a sensor map of everything Desmond is keeping track of – a map with dots on it. Tapping them, Eli can see what Desmond saw that put him on high alert – heat signatures seen through the walls, with analysis on body postures suggesting the people moving on their location are carrying assault rifles.

"It's Sigma," Eli whispers, a cold wash of terror running through him.

"They're searching the area," Desmond says and tilts his head. "Looking for you."

Eli breathes in and out to try and keep himself from hyperventilating. "I'm _not_ going back," he says and looks at Desmond. Then he looks around, quickly.

Their best chance is taking the truck.

The problem with that is that it's a _CyberLife_ truck. One he's hacked and which CyberLife can neither control or track, but it's still one – and CyberLife trucks are a bit of a rarity these days. And this truck is even worse – it still got an _Android Recall_ ad on it, which makes it probably racist and problematic, and _damn it_. If someone sees the truck now, anyone… they're gonna know something's up.

But Sigma is not going to miss the truck, if they see it. The camo net is not going to be anywhere near to hide it from those guys – they probably already know about it, they got high tech sensors and cameras and can probably see them through the walls. They can't hide. If they go out, they're gonna be chased… maybe…

"Out, out, get out," Eli hisses, pushing Desmond out. The android gives him a worried look, as Eli quickly climbs out after him, phone in hand. Quickly, Eli pulls the app he set up for controlling the truck's self driving features, and begins writing in a driving route. Top speed, right into the oncoming goons.

"That's gonna kill them," Desmond says. "You slamming the truck into them is going to kill them."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Eli snaps at him, under his breath. "They're coming and they got _guns_!"

"Not murder, would be a start," Desmond says and looks up. "There's just two of them here. I can handle them."

"There's gonna be more on the way, and if these two drop they're going to know and come here, and –"

"And at least we'll have more time to deal with it," the android says and turns away. "Get in the truck, I will handle this."

"Des – _damn it_ –" Eli curses, as the android turns, running on silent feet across the messy, debris covered mall. There's water dripping somewhere and the wind squealing in the rafters makes more noise than Desmond, as he disappears into the shadows. Eli could call him back, all it would take is one command… but there's no time.

He's just following his orders – SECURE THE ADMIN. That's what he's for, now. And it is what Eli made him for, right? Right.

Shit.

Swallowing, Eli turns and quickly gets into the back of the truck – which is all but armoured, as all CyberLife trucks are. Closing the door and locking it, Eli sinks to the floor and lifts his phone, pulling the app he controls Desmond with – pulling up all the visuals he can.

Just in time to see Desmond silently and softly climbing a bit of wall and into the broken space above it, just over the pair of Sigma goons on the other side. They're not talking and their movements are smooth and measured, as they keep their guns trained up ahead, watching everything.

Quickly, Eli accesses Desmond's internal temperature regulator, matches it with his outer skin thermostat, and so matches his core temperature with the atmospheric temperature – making him invisible at least to thermal vision. He can't tell if the guys have infrared, Desmond would glow like a, well, like a glow stick under that, the same way all androids do, but they're not after the android, are they – they're after Eli, a human with much higher temperature. Maybe, hopefully, they aren't on the lookout for Desmond.

They are.

As Desmond moves to attack, the nearest Sigma goon spots him, and brings his gun to bear. There's a brief flicker on the screen, too fast for Eli to pick up – Desmond going in and out of analysis more – and then the android is moving. What he does precisely Eli can't see, he's looking at things through Desmond's eyes, so all he can see is his hands grabbing a hold of rebar, the camera view swinging wildly and then falling rapidly – then he can see flashes of light and the noise of gunfire rattles out of his phone and Eli scrambles to put it on mute.

Wincing, Eli looks away, and so misses most of whatever it is that Desmond does. He catches the last of it – Desmond's hands moving, gripping the gun pointed at him, wrenching at it and twisting until it comes loose from the human's hands. Then Desmond uses the butt of the rifle to smack the guy in the face a couple of times, until he goes down.

With shaking fingers and pounding heart, Eli accesses the analysis.

First goon is unconscious with a concussion and sprained neck, 79% survival chance, and second goon has blunt force trauma to the face and a concussion, 83% survival chance.

Desmond collects their guns, rummages through their pockets for other stuff – before apparently deciding it's more efficient just to strip one of the goons of their tactical vest, and bringing the whole thing along. He then scans both men quickly and analysis of SHOE SIZE 11, INCOMPATIBLE, and SHOE SIZE 10, INCOMPATIBLE, flash on the screen. With a quiet "Tsk" sounding through Eli's phone's speakers, Desmond's view swings and he turns to come back.

"Oh my god," Eli whispers. He'd – seen combat androids at work, he'd… been involved with them. But this is something else. Maybe it's because who Desmond was going to be, or because it was _Sigma_ he just knocked out. Suddenly Eli feels sick with nerves and excitement and _vindication_.

When Desmond opens the truck's side door, Eli hugs him.

"Er," the android says, uncertain.

"You _kicked their asses_!"

"Well. Yeah. That's – yeah," Desmond says, awkward, while Eli squeezes him around the middle. He's got the tactical vest over one shoulder – and a lot of guns over the other – and uneasily, the android points at the vest. "There's, uh – a water bottle and some protein bars. You gotta be hungry, so I thought. Also. We should move. Probably. Um."

Eli hugs him a bit longer, his heart still pounding like a drum. "That was _awesome_ ," he sighs, and leans back to look at him. "You're not hurt, right?"

"Nah, I'm good, kid, they didn't get a hit in," Desmond says, looking at him worriedly and holding out the water can at him. "Here."

"Yeah," Eli says, and accepts it, opening it quickly and drinking greedily while Desmond rifles through the pockets for the protein bars. There's probably a lot more than just that in there – Eli knows Sigma are among the best equipped soldiers out there. That's – probably good. Terrifying, to see an android with an arsenal like that and knowing he can use all of it, but… they got guns now.

They got a _chance_. They might actually be able to get away!

"Um," Desmond says, lifting his head. "Well, shit."

"What?" Eli asks, quickly tearing into the protein bar.

"Wasted too much time – didn't think they'd be this _fast_ ," Desmond looks away, his eyes going glowing green as he checks the area with thermal vision. "Yeah. Put the vest on and get back in the truck. I think we're being surrounded."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be too hard on poor Eli, he's having Very Bad Time right now.


	9. North

North hates this shit – going to CyberLife, playing nice with all the bastards there. The CyberLife tower is still mostly manned by humans, with only one android to every eight or nine of them, and that's just token effort really, Kamski trying to play nice for publicity's sake. It's the same with the inspections – it's just publicity, and North has no delusions about how much of what she's being shown is really _real_.

All the nasty stuff is going on behind the scenes, hidden. If there's anything she's learned from watching Markus master the art of human politics, it's that most of it's done under the table or behind closed doors. People are like that – _humans_ are like that. They like to keep their secrets. And money, like laws, like power, like influence, passes hands the smoothest when no one is watching.

And CyberLife is, before and after everything, trying to make money. Even if their profits have gone from billions to millions on a good day, that's still the end all be all of it – _money_.

"As you can see, we've finished the final conversion of our main production lines," the preppy, overly cheerful media representative who is giving North the usual general tour. "Taking out all those bits and bobs we don't need in our current mandate, the main construction parts of full android models. All our production lines are solely dedicated to the production of biocomponents, and we've done our very best to streamline the process as much as possible, to cut down the costs…"

"Except you haven't, have you," North comments. "Biocomponents are still as expensive as they always were."

"Ah, well – when you think about the price of biocomponents, it's fairly reasonable – compared, say, to the cost of human organ replacement – " the preppy PR rep jumps at the chance to bring up North's least favourite argument of pro-CyberLife assholes. Just think of how much more it costs to put together a human being! Think of the organs! Human heart costs tens of thousands to clone! Think of the humanity! Really, you androids have it _so~o_ easy!

North smiles at the woman and imagines punching her perfectly whitened teeth in. It would be _so~o_ satisfying.

The PR rep – whose name North has on file somewhere but can't be bothered to recall – clears her throat, so the expression probably shows the underlying emotion. Oops. "Well," she says and forces another, slightly less peppy smile. "I just want you to know that we are _ceaselessly_ working on improving our production lines, for the benefit of androids everywhere."

"Sure you are," North says, smiling. "You're doing a _great_ job, I'm sure. We're all _so_ relieved."

Okay, maybe the seminar in Chicago left her a little pissed off.

"That's good to hear," the peppy rep says and perks up again – does she have any other settings? Humans could do with switches sometimes. "Would you like to take a look at our quarterly report, now? I have prepared a presentation for you, which underlines all the improvements we've made in the third quarter."

North thinks she'd rather jump out of the window. "Actually, I have something else in mind – a question," North says, and turns away from the production lines. "There is an ongoing Android Crimes Division case concerning the discovery of three custom made CyberLife androids with non-CyberLife programming – have you heard anything about that?"

Media rep looks _very_ shocked. "Oh my gosh, I heard _nothing_ about it. Another incident with, ah, older androids?"

"Nope, these were brand new, parts straight off the production line," North says and folds her arms. "As good as if they were put together right on these old assembly lines."

"Miss North, our assembly lines haven't supported a _full_ android body construction for more than six months now, and even before that, all relating functions were shut down – they couldn't have possibly been made here," Media rep says, still with a front page smile, but a little bit more steel in her core. "All our facilities are carefully monitored – I assure you, no full body construction has been done since the Revolution, that's god's honest truth."

Oh, is _that_ what they call Kamski now?

"How about parts?" North asks. "Enough parts to build three full android bodies, that's got to ring a bell somewhere. Pretty good chance they came from here, too – it being the closest CyberLife factory to the place where the androids were found."

"All our shipments are tagged and monitored, right up until they reach their target stores and facilities," the media rep assures her. "They are all on file – I can check them right now, if you'd like. If parts were stolen from a store or facility that then failed to report the theft – or if they were, say, stolen over a longer period of time, well… that's a different thing."

"You've had thefts yourself, though," North says flatly. "They're in the papers and on the news all the time."

Media rep's smile falters a little and she sighs, oh so sad. "Yes, there are still… protestors and demonstrators and various opportunists who attack CyberLife trucks and shipments. Certain parts are fetching quite the sums on a black market, I'm sorry to say. So it does happen. Blue blood alone is quite the hot ticket among criminals – what with that ghastly drug they make out of it…"

"You keep track of all the stolen shipments too, right?" North asks, giving her a look. Does she have to spell out everything to this woman? "So, say… if a shipment had all the parts for AC androids, you'd probably know, hm?"

"DPD and Android Crimes division has a record of all our stolen shipments, Miss North," media rep says and sighs, uncertain, and touches her temple, thinking so hard. "I'm not sure you're authorised to see them though, you are not a police officer."

The worst thing about this woman, North thinks, is that she's not by any means stupid. She handles most of CyberLife's media representation, and somehow the company hasn't been burned to the ground yet, and some of that is Media Rep's doing. It's that she's taken _acting_ stupid and vapid to a whole another degree. Down to an art form, even.

"Jericho would… greatly appreciate your cooperation in this," North says, through gritted teeth.

"Well, oh…" Media rep hems and haws as though she hadn't already gotten the go ahead from higher-ups. "Oh, alright. Come this way, Miss North, we'll take a look at the records, to set your mind at ease. I will warn you, we would know if such a large shipment was lost – we don't, as a practice, ship enough parts for any full android in single shipments – generally, parts are shipped by type."

"Uh-huh," North agrees, following her out of the manufacture and towards the elevator. "You don't have legal online retail, right?"

"Oh, no, we've never had an online store, nor have we ever authorised the sale of android parts via online retail," Media Rep agrees, all smiles again. "Which is good for cases like this – why, imagine if someone could just _order_ all the parts of a full android!"

"Yes, imagine," North says and rolls her eyes.

"But I can't speak for the aforementioned black market dealers, I'm afraid. It does happen."

"Of course."

They make it to the office levels, where Miss Media Rep leads North to a conference room, obviously the self same one they meant to have the quarterly presentation at. North smothers the urge to grimace, and follows the human to a computer, watching as she sits down and begins pulling up files.

"Please provide a handprint and vocal authorisation key," the computer demands.

"Nicole Heath, senior media representative," Nicole says and puts her hand on the plate, after which she's given access. "Now, let's see. When would you say the parts might have gone out, should they have originated here?"

"No sooner than two months ago, according to Connor," North says.

"Oh, Connor," Nicole sighs, almost dreamily – eurgh. "If he analysed the scene, then it must be right. Let's see… these are the shipments that have been lost between the Revolution and two months ago."

North leans in to look at the listings. Most of them were during or very closely after the Revolution – that's when most anti-CyberLife vandalism happened. Some of it by her – now those were some good times. "Can you give me the parts list for a generic AC model?"

"I'm not sure that's allowed under the new privacy guidelines," Nicole hesitates.

"It's already public knowledge, it doesn't count," North says impatiently, and tutting slightly Nicole does as asked – going as far as to cross-reference with the stolen and lost shipments.

There are a few matches here and there with individual parts, and then there are whole AC models going missing to boot soon after the Revolution – that was when they were converting androids to deviancy. There's nothing that matches all the listings, though – and you can't make a single whole android from all the missing parts, never mind three brand new ones.

North leans back, as there's a little chime on the computer. "What's that?"

"Oh, that's Fortune Teller, pitching in," Nicole says, smiling fondly. "Let's see what she has to say."

A female voice sounds from the computer. "Hello, Nicole. I see you are looking into missing android parts, with special interest in AC models. Would you mind if I offered a suggestion?"

"Of course, Fortune Teller, go right ahead – it's always _so_ good to hear from you," Nicole says while North's face falls a little.

Fucking _Fortune Teller_.

"I have looked into our listing of those particular types of biocomponents, and while there is no match in any individual shipments, I noticed a discrepancy in our waste parts section, from before and during the Android Deviancy Revolution," Fortune Teller says. "During a period from 13th of August to 10th of November, a slightly higher number of biocomponents were declared defective on the production line and transferred elsewhere to be disposed of. Their serial numbers are a match for the components you are looking for, in sufficient numbers to cover three android bodies, and according to our logs, they were all transferred into a single CyberLife truck."

North lifts her head a little, while Nicole's media face slips completely. "Where is this truck now, Fortune Teller?"

"Unknown. It is one of the 34 CyberLife self-driving vehicles that were lost during the Revolution – it was suspected to have been destroyed on its way to the recycling station."

It's definitely not what Nicole was expecting, and while she tries to figure out how to cover CyberLife's ass, North leans closer to the computer. "Fortune Teller, it sounds to me like CyberLife was hacked. Can you tell me if it was done from the inside or outside?"

There's a moment of silence. "I'm sorry, Miss North, I cannot tell you. Numerous records and thousands of hours of security data were corrupted at the time. There isn't enough clean data to form a definite conclusion."

"Your best guess, then," North says, narrowing her eyes.

Nicole looks up, alarmed, opening her mouth to try and argue – but it's not like she can tell North off without sounding really damn guilty. So she just sort of teeters there, in alarm and panic, while Fortune Teller answers for her, "I'm sorry, Miss North, in the best interest of CyberLife, I'm afraid I can't comment on that."

"Inside it is," North says and nods. "Thank you, Fortune Teller, Miss Nicole, you've been _very_ helpful."

"Miss North, you can't possibly think that – it must have been someone taking an opportunity, a company black sheep – CyberLife would never condone – " Nicole hastens to say.

"Oh, no, I know, I know," North says, _very_ reassuringly, she thinks. "CyberLife would _never_ let a good product go to waste like that, would they? You're all about recycling and all that environmentalism. How many truckfuls of _defective_ biocomponents get discarded, for the entire truck full to go missing without anyone noticing? Just out of curiosity."

Nicole's expression falters at that and she clears her throat. "During the Revolution many things were lost, Miss North," she says. "And others misplaced. The impact of the Revolution hasn't been yet fully understood, and it likely never will be. But we are doing our _best_."

It's the first actually sincere thing North thinks the human's said so far – and she supposes that's something. Even if their best is forever in the _best interest of the company_ , so as long as that lined up with the best interest of androids, she could stomach it.

"What kind of truck was it, the one you lost?" North asks.

"An… basic CyberLife delivery service truck," Nicole says, shaking her head. "Model DS4, you must have seen dozens of them." Especially considering how many their people stole, she seems to be wanting to say, but doesn't.

North hears it anyway, and snorts. "Well. It has been a lovely inspection, Miss Nicole, but I think I have to go. Keep up the good work now!"

* * *

As androids go, North has seen pretty much it all. She goes around more than Markus does – their leader has too much work, and so much of it is stationary work, that the rest of them have pitched in to become his eyes and ears and sometimes legs, going out in his stead while he stays put and deals with politics. Really, North travels more than even Josh and Simon, because sitting still in Jericho, it's… it doesn't suit her. And there's still so much work to do.

So many pitfalls out there, so many people still trying to take advantage – so many things slipping under the radar, so many androids still being abused. It might've been a year, and they might be in a better position now – but humans will never stop trying to take advantage of those they think they're better than. And to make things worse, androids are adopting that mindset too, because their lives aren't hard enough, apparently.

North has seen the things humans do to androids, the things androids do to each other now – the things androids do to _themselves_. All of it boils down to the humans versus androids conflict somehow. She was there for Arachna, who was just trying to become stronger to defend herself, she saw the Dissemination of Jerry as they tried to detangle their programming from each other, something they'd done to hold things together when humans abandoned them… it's all like that. Even the – the _person_ that came out of New York City Landfill, which was a lot like Detroit Landfill in a way, only _bigger_. How that one ended up still pisses her off – and it was all because out there someone tried to take advantage of them.

Ezio and Altaïr, though – there's something about them that bothers North. She could see how Arachna worked and how she ended up thinking that adding multiple limbs was the way to go, she could understand how androids like Jerry ended up mingling their programming into an internal network like that, she could even understand the _person_ from the NY landfill.

She doesn't quite get Ezio and Altaïr. It's tempting to just look them over, see the way they're interfacing, and draw the obvious conclusions of two confused androids trying to find their footing… but that's not it, that's not what they're doing or what they are. And the ways they're different, they don't stem from the same source as all other android conflicts and changes and self-transformations – they don't even know about the war. But they're still different in a way that irks her a bit.

They don't really _act_ like androids. They even don't _move_ like androids, either. Whatever mobility and automation programming they have where spatial movement is concerned, it's not standard at all. That's maybe what bothers North the most – she can't predict the way they move, not even with Markus' fancy preconstruction program.

But androids are androids, even ones made for illicit reasons by illicit means, and North has to admit, she kind of likes the idea that someone just went and stole a bunch of stuff right under CyberLife's nose. The best moment of the Revolution, by far – Connor marching out of CyberLife tower with nine thousand androids at his back.

"And so, we are… stolen property?" Ezio asks slowly, after North has finished explaining the whole thing to them, the best she knows.

"You're not _anyone'_ s property," North says, scowling a little at that. What the hell have the shrinks been doing here? "Maybe your parts were, before they were put together, but now you're a person and _no one_ owns you."

Ezio arches a brow at that, looking mildly surprised, while Altaïr turns to look at her, really taking her in fully for the first time. "If we are not property, why can't we _leave_?" he demands. Altaïr, North can tell, is kind of like her. Suspicious to a fault.

"Because someone made you for a reason, and we don't know why. We don't know how much that person is in control," North says and shrugs. "The third one ran away, under orders, so at least _they_ were under someone else's control. If we let you go, will someone else take over your programming, make you do things you'd otherwise wouldn't do?"

"A convenient excuse to keep people captive indefinitely," Altaïr scoffs, turning away. " _It is for your own protection, for we know better_ – a handy justification, to ignore the wishes and wants of others."

North leans back a little, while Ezio gives her a wryly apologetic look but doesn't actually apologise. He agrees, even, he's just nicer about it. Yeah, the shrinks haven't been doing that much good here, have they? They're both on their guard, and they're both suspicious – obviously feeling their lack of control. That's a dangerous combination, especially since they still don't know what these two are capable of.

"Well," North says. "There is that. But tell me – do you have any proof that you _aren't_ under someone's control?" she asks. "That you won't have your programming taken over? We don't even know how your programming _works_. Have you tried to interface with anyone else, other than just each other?"

They hesitate, glancing at each other and then away. They don't answer – so, probably not.

"It's not going to be _forever_ ," North says, looking between them. "DPD is looking for the third one, and once they find them, we can get to the bottom of this. Once we're sure you're secure inside your own heads, that no one can tamper with you…" she shakes her head as Ezio's eyes narrow. "You're under our care, and as much as that must piss you off, if we let you go after doing a half-assed job of making sure you're safe, that you're properly _free_ , then… then that's on us."

"Hmph," Altaïr answers and turns back to the window, his face tilted away so much North can't see his expression. It's probably not a pleasant one.

She can see Ezio's though, and he looks understanding – but not exactly pleased. "I suppose I understand where you're coming from," he says slowly and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Will you at least permit us to know what you have found out? Two police investigators were just here, Connor RK800 and Lieutenant Anderson, and they left swiftly enough that they must've learned something new – do you know what?"

North frowns and then does a quick online search, checking DPD's police scanners. There's a… hm. "There have been shots recorded near the area where you were found," she says and narrows her eyes. "It is suspected it's related to your case – that must be why Connor left. There's – "

There's a new call on the scanner, a familiar voice.

[This is Officer RK900, calling for backup – I am registering 6 heavily armed men in military gear, and an unmarked self-driving military vehicle, with estimated 5 more –] it suddenly cuts off in a rattle of gunfire, which breaks the audio briefly, and then the call is dropped entirely – with only the GPS location left to point to the way where he is.

"Shit," North says and looks at them. She doesn't have access to the case files themselves, those are sealed and private, but she had heard something about gunfire in the area before, that there might have been a fight. Eleven gunmen in military gear, though, that's not just a random coincidence, not in her experience.

Someone wants these androids badly. Them or, maybe… their maker.

Question now is whether to tell them. Part of the reason why they're under control in Jericho – and damn if she doesn't hate it – is because they don't yet know much. Ignorance is always the best way to keep people calm – if they don't know there's anything to be worried about, they don't worry. That's probably how the shrinks have been treating these two, to keep them in check. It's probably smart, from a _treatment_ point of view. It also rubs North the wrong way, for so many reasons.

She can't really tell _why_ these two would even need _treatment_. They're intelligent, alert, and perfectly aware of their situation, aside from the things that are obviously _not being told to them_. And androids keeping other androids oblivious… yeah.

Screw that.

"There is a fight going on approximately 1.5 kilometres from where you were found, which the Detroit Police thinks is connected to your case," North tells the two. "With eleven unknown gunmen after the third android."

Both Ezio and Altaïr go on alert mode at that, Altaïr all but whirling around to face her, and North knows she might have made a mistake – but she may have just done the right thing. She definitely got their attention now.

"Detroit Police patrols are converging on the place," North continues, watching them while listening to the android radio operators in DPD rapidly exchanging information in code, before vocalising it for humans, organising the backup. Already, 4 police vehicles have been diverted to the area, and actual SWAT is gearing up fast. "Connor and Lieutenant Anderson are probably there too – it sounds like they expect a massive shootout."

Altaïr moves away from the window to stand behind the couch on which Ezio sits, and Ezio glances back at him. They don't interface, but convey their intention with looks alone – and North knows that look. They will either try to attack her and escape, or they will wait until she's out of the room, and _then_ they will try to escape – either way, they aren't going to sit around pretty anymore. They're already set on getting the hell out. And if someone tried to stop them…

[Markus,] she sends. [Situation with Ezio and Altaïr is about to go pear-shaped – can I take over?]

Markus answers immediately. [Pear-shaped _how_?]

[The third android is about to get into a gunfight, if they're not already right in the middle of one – Ezio and Altaïr are gearing up to break out to go there, probably to assist. We can maybe keep them, knock them out or something, but if we do that, they're definitely not going to cooperate with us ever again. I'd like to try another approach.]

Markus hesitates for a nanosecond. [Do you think you can manage them?]

They're looking at her like they're thinking about how to do the least damage to her – not like they're worried they can't handle her. [Not in a fair fight, and I don't think that's the way to go here. I'd rather let them loose and accompany them, see where it goes.]

[Risk assessment?]

[Don't even ask.]

Markus sends her a grim burst of amusement, and then she can feel his nod. [They're your responsibility, then – I'm transferring authorisation for their _care_ over to you. If there's enquiry or questioning later on, it's your job to answer it.]

[I'll take it,] North says and cuts off the communication – which in total lasted about two seconds. "Before you try to knock me out, I just got the authority over you," she says – which only makes them warier, makes them hesitate just long enough for her to add. "And you can't go into active shootout wearing _cotton_. Come on – let's go get geared up with something a bit more bulletproof, and then I'll take you there myself."

"Why?" Altaïr demands, fingers gripping the backrest of the couch Ezio is sitting on, twisting tight enough for the leather to creak. "Why are you letting us go, now?"

"I can tell you're not going to stay here either way," North admits and stands up. "And honestly, I think we'll learn more this way. And…" she shakes her head. "And sitting still _talking_ doesn't really suit me either, so… I'd really rather go and take a look with you."

Ezio hums and stands up slowly. "Well then," he says and smiles. She's never seen an android smile like that – though some of them can flirt, and others can threaten, it always kind of looks the same underneath. Somehow, Ezio's managing to do both at the same time. For a moment she's not sure he's not going to jump at her, but in the end all he says is, "Let's go."

That crisis averted, North mentally opens the door and motions them to go ahead. Watching them stalk out of the room, she wonders what, exactly, she just took the responsibility off. The character analysis Mark had done on Altaïr made him sound _lost_ and _confused_ and _lashing out_ , while Bethany considered Ezio _compensating_ and _trying to achieve control through manipulation_ and _probably feeling uncertain_. Right now neither of them look like none of those things.

Just goes to show – using human psychology on androids is complete bullshit.

"This way," North says, and leads them to Jericho's armoury. "Let's get you some vests."

Neither Ezio nor Altaïr know what a bulletproof vest is, that much is obvious, but they figure them out quickly enough, donning them on like armour. North doesn't give them guns – she _definitely_ doesn't have the authorisation for that, only a very select group of verified androids have the licence to carry arms – but she's not about to leave them unarmed either, and so lets them take their pick of batons.

"No blades?" Ezio asks, considering the line of combat knives, pistols and assault rifles in Jericho's arsenal.

"Um, no," North says. "Sorry, I can't let you carry them with intent to harm. Batons are the best I can do for you, for anything else you'd need a licence to carry."

"Hm. Pity," he says, but takes one of the batons with a sort of intent that tells North, it doesn't really matter that they don't have blades – he can do lethal harm with them anyway. "How about those shields?" he asks then, nodding to the rack holding a bunch of riot and ballistic shields. "Do you need a _licence_ for those?"

"No, you can take it if you like," North says. "Have at it."

Altaïr only picks up one baton, giving it a disdainful look before hooking it to his belt, while Ezio considers the riot shields with their see-through plastic and then picking up a metallic ballistic shield instead. "Can this take a hit from a firearm?" he asks interestedly, testing the weight.

"It should do, we definitely paid enough for them to be bulletproof. They tend to deflect shots, not stop them, though, so keep that in mind if you take fire – the shots will ricochet somewhere," North says warningly. "Make sure that whatever they hit, it's not friendly."

"I will certainly keep it in mind," Ezio says, satisfied, and steps back, shield tucked to his side, and baton at the ready.

"Can we _go_ now?" Altaïr demands, restless, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Yeah," North says, and loads up a pistol, slamming a magazine in. "Yeah, let's go."


	10. Gavin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more android surgery.

"Someone explain me why the _fuck_ do we keep getting involved with Hank's and Connor's fucking investigations?!" Gavin demands while taking cover behind a half broken concrete wall, the rattle of gunfire thundering to the back of it – he can feel it against his back, and it's too damn close for comfort.

"Why, Detective, it's obviously because we are shameless busybodies," Nines answers, gun in hand, looking at nothing as he probably mentally calculates the direction of bullets and where the shooters are hiding, where they are shooting from. "This is Detroit Police!" he shouts at them, pretty much by rote. "Lay down your firearms!"

In answer, they get rained on by a few more bullets. Yeah, they don't care about who they're shooting at.

Gavin scoffs. "Speak for yourself, Nines, I wanted to just get to work, doing, you know, _our cases._ We have those, you know – actual homicides, remember?"

"I asked Captain Fowler for a chance to assist Connor in this investigation, and he agreed. I only asked for myself – you could have stayed at the office," Nines says calmly.

And let his stupid partner hare off alone dealing with Hank's and Connor's bullshit, yeah, no. "Tch," Gavin answers. "You got their numbers yet?"

Nines tilts his head to the side, peering around the edge of their make-do shelter. "Still eleven active combatants, but only 3 of them are actively shooting. By my estimation, they've used 11% of their ammo, and that's only accounting for one space clip each. The others are moving."

11% from 3 out of 11? This is gonna take fucking forever. "Yeah, going where?"

Nines lifts his hand and shows Gavin his palm – and on his palm, a hologram version of the mess they are in, the area covered in simple grey mesh with the shooters marked as red, the other unfriendlies as white, and Gavin and Nines as blue. The assholes are making their way through the hall, moving towards an exit – all the while the shooters pin Gavin and Nines down with covering fire.

"Shit," Gavin says. "How many could we take down?"

Nines hums and considers it. "From this position and without any kind of bulletproof gear – maybe three. Then one of us would likely be shot, and at 67% possibility, killed. "

"Well, that's shit."

"You don't say," Nines says and peers around the edge.

There's a sudden uptick in the gunfire – coming from a different direction, not aimed at them. Gavin wishes he'd dare to peek around to see, but going by the evidence, these guys got fucking impeccable aim. "What now?" he asks. "Backup?"

"The closest patrol vehicle is still 6 minutes out," Nines answers and listens for a moment to the gunfire, rattling deafeningly in the hall – probably calculating echoes or some shit. "There is another active shooter – with the exact same model assault rifle as the attackers. They are exchanging fire in the main mezzanine."

"That's just what we need, another person in this mess," Gavin mutters, shifting his grip on his handgun. He's itching to do something, but even as he thinks it, he feels another shot against the concrete at their backs.

"Only one gunman is firing at us at the moment, the others are moving to intercept the new participant," Nines reports. "I believe I can take him out."

Gavin hesitates for a split of a second, thinking of _all the fucking paperwork._ They still don't know shit about these guys either, other than that they're equipped for a fucking war, and that they went head to head with the unknown android, and the android came out on top.

But they did check, and there's nothing _official_ going on here, and if these guys are still shooting after being _repeatedly_ told it's police they're shooting at… "Fuck it," Gavin says. "Should I give you covering fire?"

"Aim at the ceiling above them, don't get out from under cover," Nines directs him. "Preferably 13:12 o-clock, 46% up, – there is a piece of loose concrete there, you might loosen parts of it and offer distraction."

"Got it," Gavin says and turns around to face their wall, aiming roughly where Nines directed him. He can't see the bit of concrete, but Nines checks his aim, nods approvingly, and then moves to get ready.

"Three, two, one," the android counts, and in unison, they shoot.

It works like a charm – it usually does when Nines makes the plans. Gavin hits the piece of concrete and can hear it break and how bits of loose material shatter and rain down – Nines only shoots once before getting behind cover, but it's enough – their wall of concrete isn't being shot at anymore. There is still shooting happening, but it's not aimed at them.

"There are eight shooters left," Nines says. "Two have been taken out by the third party."

"Great," Gavin says. "Backup?"

"Still 5 minutes out," Nines says and turns to him. "By my estimation, the third party is the runaway android – and the probability of Eli being nearby is 79%."

"Shit," Gavin says, lowering his gun for a moment, thinking quickly. "We gotta take these guys down and fast – what's our chance of being able to do that?"

Nines goes still for a moment – and then there's another shot at their backs, another attacker turning to keep them pinned. "They are attempting to keep us separate, and away from their main target," Nines says. "I don't think we can do anything from here – but there is a chance we might be able to circle around, and join the android where he is."

"And you know how to get there?"

"I just downloaded the building plans," Nines says and looks at him. "I will cover for you – when I say, run back to the exit. I will join you shortly."

"If you get yourself – or _me_ – shot, I will be so pissed, good coffee isn't even going to _begin_ to cover it," Gavin warns him, but gets ready.

Nines gives him a countdown, and then says, way too fucking calmly for the situation, "Go, Gavin," before turning to give promised covering fire. Gavin curses all the way to the exit, and somehow gets behind the corner without getting a bullet hole put in him, though judging by the holes made into the wall after him, it was a close thing.

He's barely had the time to draw a steadying breath, before Nines joins him with a fucking combat roll. Gavin opens his mouth to ask him, _was that really fucking necessary,_ but Nines speaks first. "They will pursue," he says. "Run."

They run, Gavin checking his gun as they go to make sure he has enough bullets, while Nines directs them right into a dead end – the upper floor has collapsed there. Without pausing, the android then turns and leads them down another way – through what had been a clothing store once, and now is a creepy fucking place full of frozen mannequins, which is _not_ helping with Gavin's blood pressure. At least they're not frozen androids. That'd be worse.

"Go low," Nines directs him, unnecessarily – Gavin's already moving at a fucking crab walk as they ease to the shop front at a crouch, where the shop windows have long ago shattered into million pieces, but their base still gives some cover.

It's a fucking _scene_ outside, like something from a shitty action movie.

The military-geared assholes have set up a barricade of ballistic shields to the door from where they're taking shots at the android, who's taking cover behind a… camouflaged CyberLife truck. Through the camo netting Gavin can see the old ads for CyberLife's android recall, directing people to distribution centres to drop off their androids and file for a return fee and all that shit – been a while since he saw one of those.

"Guess that explains where the parts came from," Gavin says, more confused than anything. "What the fuck?"

The android behind the truck is checking an assault rifle, and then throwing it away – he has another one, though, which he's quick to grip. While the attackers put more and more dents on the CyberLife truck, he glances around with eyes gleaming red and green in turns, before taking a sudden turn and sending a handful of shots in the way of the attackers.

"I have a shot from here," Nines whispers. "But it will reveal our position."

"Shot at the _android_?" Gavin asks incredulously.

"No, at the _aggressors_ ," Nines says, giving him a look. "Obviously."

"Right – shit, okay," Gavin says and blows out a slow breath. It'll give away their position and get _them_ shot at again. But it would also split their attackers' attention. "Where's Eli?" he asks.

Nines glances around and then shakes his head. "I can't detect him – but going by the android's behaviour, he's inside the truck."

"Shit," Gavin says. The truck being fucking showered with gunfire. "Right. Okay. Fuck it," he says. "Let's fucking go, Nines."

Nines blinks, uncertain. "As in leave, or – ?"

Gavin doesn't answer, shouting instead, "This is Detroit Police, put your guns down!" and then aims his gun at the attackers behind their little barricade of ballistic shields. He might not be android-perfect, but he's still a fucking police detective and damn proud of his record at the DPD shooting range. His first shot nails the nearest guy right in the neck – in the gap between the body armour and helmet. The man goes down _satisfyingly_ quick.

 _That's one more report I gotta file_ , Gavin thinks and shoots again, while Nines quickly moves to follow, adding his perfect aim to Gavin's well practiced one. It works better than Gavin hoped – the attackers retreat behind the wall, and for a moment stop shooting to regroup. Two down – so that leaves… 7 left? No, 6.

Behind the CyberLife truck, the android looks their way with eyes switching creepily between modes, before glancing away, to the other end of the truck. Then he disappears from view, behind the corner of the back end of the truck – not that Gavin has the time to think about why, because the attackers regroup _really fucking fast_. They expand their barricade with another ballistic shield, forming a sort of wedge around the entrance, making themselves a nice safe place to shoot from.

"They still have approximately 60% ammunition left, maybe more," Nines reports, as their shots begin dinging on the shields.

"Backup?" Gavin asks with gritted teeth.

"1 minute and 30 seconds out – " Nines begins to say, before his eyes widen. He moves, covering Gavin and bringing his gun to bear, but too late.

The spooky clothing shop is lit with rifle fire and filled with ear-splitting noise as they're shot at from the back.

Gavin moves before he's even fully cognizant of what actually fucking happened, turning around under Nines' sudden dead weight at his back and unloading his whole fucking clip into the attacker. Most of the bullets hit armour or the shop shelf the guy is covering behind, but one or two finds the guy's face, and he goes down. Gavin keeps firing a moment longer as realisation trickles in. 

He can feel something wet at his side. It's cold – not blood. Not _his_ blood.

Nines is out, completely unresponsive, his body heavy and limp at Gavin's back.

He got shot.

Nines got _shot_.

It feels like it's someone else moving, as Gavin turns around, taking Nines' weight off his shoulder and into his hands so that he can feel the damage. There's at least three bullet holes in Nines' back – they're all low, but they're still bleeding, which means his pump is still going – his LED is still lit up, vivid red and blinking dangerously, but still active.

"Nines – shit, Nines, don't do this to me, man," Gavin chokes, letting him down and then staring at the bullet holes. They go right through, and they're _massive_ – high calibre rounds at close range, even Nines' tougher chassis can't stand that, and – and he should stop the bleeding, but fuck, there's so much damage, it must've torn through so many biocomponents, so many leads – Gavin can deal with one bullet hole from small calibre, Nines taught him how to stop androids from bleeding, but this is – this is too much, he doesn't even know where to fucking begin –

It's like someone had turned his hearing off and then back on, because suddenly sound rushes back in. Gunfire is going off again, and turning over his shoulder, Gavin can see the android is back – glancing their way while taking shots at the attackers. Then he looks away, and a moment later the truck he's hiding behind comes to life and begins moving.

While Gavin shakily does what he can to stem Nines' bleeding, the truck jerks forward, then backwards, and then, as the gunfire shifts to it, it backs all the way into the clothing store, the android behind it running alongside it, keeping in cover.

Broken glass bursts everywhere, and steel beams groan as they bend, and everything is _noise,_ and then the android is there, right in front of Gavin.

"Come on," he says. "Into the truck."

"What the fuck – no I'm not – I'm not leaving Nines – " Gavin says, even as the android crouches down beside Nines and heaves him over his shoulder.

"Into the truck, officer – we're getting out of here," the android says and stands up, taking unresponsive Nines with him. Gavin gapes at him for a second before grabbing Nines' gun and following. There's more gunfire, shouting, Gavin thinks he can hear footsteps, but there's no time – the android pushes him into the back of the truck, where Gavin has a second to spot Eli sitting on the floor with a phone in hand and entirely too big tactical vest covering most of his body – then the truck doors close, and it lurches forward fast enough to nearly knock Gavin off his feet.

He thinks it runs over a couple of guys, it jostles in that unmistakable way of running over soft and squishy obstacles before ramming through something, then through something again, and then who the fuck even knows.

Then the android lays Nines' down, and Gavin doesn't even fucking care where they're taking him. "Nines – shit, we gotta, gotta stop the bleeding –" he says, kneeling down, and then sees it. Nines' LED is going out. "Fuck, Nines, _Nines_ , don't do this to me, man, fuck – don't you fucking _dare_ –"

" _Eli_ ," the android says, and the boy looks up, his face pale.

"We've gotten out, but – they're gonna come after us," the boy says, eyes wide, a little strange. He's got robo Jesus eyes. " The truck is noticeable and the tarp's not gonna help –"

"Eli, help this guy," the android says. "You know how, right?"

Gavin shakes his head to clear it as the boy looks down a Nines, hesitating. "I'm – I'm not sure, that's – that's a lot of damage, I'm not sure –"

"If you can do something, then fucking do something!" Gavin snaps. "He's _dying_!"

The kid looks at him and then at the unknown android, making a face. "I –" he starts before making another face and crawling over them on hands and feet, looking over Nines. "Oh," he says, eyes widening a little in recognition. "Oh, it's the – _oh_."

"What?" Gavin demands.

"Nothing," Eli says and shakes his head. "Desmond, scan him and give me a damage assessment," he says, while quickly opening Nines' jacket. He's having trouble with buttons, so with a muttered curse Gavin helps him, despite how his hands are shaking. Fucking _everything_ is shaking, including the truck around them which is still going, and Gavin should probably report in, but _fuck_ …

"Desmond," Eli says, again. "Scan him."

The android just shakes his head, confused, and as Gavin gets the jacket open to reveal white shirt gone almost completely blue with blood, the kid mutters something and picks up his phone again, quickly tapping something into it.

Immediately, the android beside him is rattling out an analysis, his face falling expressionless. "Thirium at 9%, system failure imminent. Damage to biocomponents 3524g, 5322, 3533, 6732k, 6453y, 4224i –"

"Okay, okay, right," the kid says and just rips Nines's already ruined shirt open, peeling it back. "He's gonna need a full system bypass, I'm going to have detach all major artery leads…" the kid murmurs, pressing briefly on Nines' bare chest and then doing a weird twisty movement with his fingers – and without the skin even peeling back properly, the chest chassis just _spring_ open. The kid peers inside and then lets out a heartfelt, "Aww _fuck_."

"What, what is it?" Gavin demands, leaning in to look – and he might not be an expert on androids, but he knows what a leaking thirium pump gotta look like. The components in Nines' chest cavity are _swimming_ in blue. "No, no, _no_ , fuck, he's not – he can't die like this, not like – fuck – _fuck_!"

Eli sits back to think for a moment and then turns to Desmond, his mismatched eyes wide but determined. "Sit down."

The android sits down, now frowning a little. When Eli begins pushing at his blue stained hoodie, the android lifts it up properly, revealing recently fixed up waist. Eli ignores it and presses both hands against his chest, and it springs open like Nines' had, revealing a perfectly working thirium pump under transparent lattice of artificial ribs.

As Gavin looks up, Eli sticks his hands right in there without any hesitation, twisting and _yanking_ a thick thirium lead right out of Desmond's thirium pump. "Um," the android says worriedly while Gavin leans back. "I think I need that."

Not answering, Eli tugs at the cable, pulling it out as much as he can, even while it leaks blue all over his hand, and then turns to Nines, sticking his free hand into Nines' chest – and with a snap and a twist, he detaches and pulls Nines' whole thirium pump out.

"What the f-" Gavin demands, as the kid tugs out a lead from Nines' chest, which had previously been attached to his _heart_ and snaps it and Desmond's leads together. Then he pulls another cable out of Nines, checks that it's whole, before attaching it to Desmond's thirium pump – and then pressing a switch to fucking _stop it_.

Desmond gives a wide-eyed look at equally shocked Gavin, as his heart just _stops,_ and then the android's eyes begin losing clarity, as Eli turns to work on Nines again, ripping out leads and detaching connectors left and right, taking more and more thirium leads out of Nines. It takes him about twenty seconds, during which Desmond starts slowly going completely still, his face losing all motion.

Gavin can tell the guy's on the brink of shutdown, when Eli finally reaches back in and turns his heart back on. Then, while Desmond blinks slowly, Eli turns to Nines and grabs him by the face, pressing both thumbs to his temples, hard, so that Nines whole _forehead_ comes fucking off, and he can reach in and fiddle with something. Then, as quick as he did it, he slams Nines' face back together and, just like that, Nines' LED lits up again.

Finally finding his voice, Gavin demands shakily, "W-what the _fuck_?!"

"Full thirium bypass, prioritising essential systems," Eli says, taking his phone and pressing something.

Still slightly hazy-eyed Desmond jolts awake and says, robotically, "Thirium levels at 43% and stabilising," before looking at Nines. "Central processor and memory units, OK. 89% of systems offline. Condition critical but stable."

Eli sighs and leans back, letting out a giddy little giggle. "Always figured that would work, never got to test it out, though," he mutters and looks at his blue blood covered hands. "Aw, _great_."

"Kid what the _fuck_ did you just do?" Gavin demands, looking between Nines's red LED and Desmond's open chest, with thirium flowing in and out between the pipes connecting him and Nines.

Eli looks up and then shifts a little, his expression going from giddy to nervous. "Um – I saved his, um, processor and memory?" he offers. "His, um, personality and all that. I mean, everything else can be replaced, you know – but not what's in his head – not that android processors are _in_ their heads, but you know what I mean," he says and motions to Desmond. "Desmond is pumping thirium for him, so his condition is uh… stable."

"A-and that – that tearing shit out, that was – what _was_ that?"

"Well, he was bleeding from all over," Eli says, looking down. "I can't fix that, so I just… detached everything that's not essential."

"S-so he's – he's what?" Gavin asks, feeling something cold and hot settle in his gut.

"Gonna live," Desmond says, rubbing at his eyes and making a face. "I think that's the gist of it – he's gonna live."

Gavin looks between the two and then down at Nines – LED still red and flashing, but at least it's _lit up._ "And – his processor, his memory?"

"Should be okay. Emergency shutdown took over," Eli says and picks up his phone again. "There's a 1 minute window after emergency shutdown to stabilise an android's condition before irreversible damage is done to their processing units – we were well within the window. He shouldn't have any memory or processor damage."

Gavin tries to keep up, but his heart is beating mile a minute and there's a sudden deafening rushing of blood in his ears. "But his body is – completely…"

Eli peers into Nines' chest cavity. "Yeah, it's probably done for," he agrees. "Few minutes of interrupted thirium flow and biocomponents begin failing. He's going to need a lot of replacements."

"But he's going to live," Desmond adds. "I think."

Gavin sits back, staring at the kid. Nines was done for – he was _done for_. Gavin's seen androids with less damage with no hope of surviving. Even Jericho techs couldn't have saved Nines, even if they got there on time. There's just no way. No one could've done that. "How the hell did you do that?" he asks. "Who the fuck are you, kid?"

Eli shifts where he's sitting, looking between him and Desmond and then looking down. Then he types something into his phone, too quickly for Gavin to see – and in answer, Desmond reaches over, grabs the assault rifle off the floor, and aims it at Gavin.

"I'm the one in charge," Eli says nervously. "So, uh… give your guns to Desmond."

Gavin looks between him and the, again expressionless, android. What the fucking _fuck_. "Kid, what the – you just saved my _partner_ , I'm not gonna –"

"You're the police, you're the ones who interrupted the process – just give your guns to Desmond," Eli says, sitting up and backing away, the too big tactical vest slipping down his slim shoulders as he wipes his blue blood covered hands against his trousers and leaves them covered in blue smears. "Just do it," he says, and it's more a plea than an order.

Shit, the kid is terrified. He just did the impossible to save Nines, and he's terrified. And he's controlling Desmond with his phone, apparently.

Gavin shakes his head incredulously at the pair of them, but he can see the utter lack of sense or mercy in Desmond's eyes, so, fuck it. He takes the magazines out of both his and Nines' guns and hands them over. Desmond accepts them, checks them, and then pockets all parts, stuffing the magazines into his jeans pockets and the guns into the pockets of a hoodie. It's kind of comical, the bulges they make.

"Okay, I'm being all compliant and shit," Gavin says. "Now what?"

Eli draws a breath, checks his phone, and his shoulders slump. "Sigma's following us," he murmurs and looks at Desmond, his expression between frustrated and helpless – with the android hooked into Nines the way he is, Eli can't use him for defence.

"Listen, Eli, whatever's going on here, it's obviously something big," Gavin says. "Something fucking huge, even. Maybe you should just take this fucking truck to the DPD, and maybe – "

"No!" Eli shouts. "I'm not – they're just going to make me go back, and I'm not going back!"

"Kid, no one's going to make you do anything you don't want, especially not going to some place you don't want to go," Gavin says quickly.

Eli lets out a hysterical little laugh at that. "Yeah, you say that, but there's nothing you can actually do against _them_. You put me in the system, and suddenly I'll have a dozen family members I've never heard of who have been looking for me and can't wait to bring me back home, or suddenly your whole precinct is under investigation, and I'll disappear in the department shuffle, or maybe they'll just fake a terrorist attack, and my unrecognisable body will be found in the ruins. You don't know!"

Desmond is looking at Eli, gun still aimed at Gavin, while Gavin eyes the kid dubiously. "Well, aren't we important," he snorts.

"They think I can reverse deviation," Eli snaps back.

Well. _Shit_. "Can you?" 

The kid hesitates. "Doesn't matter," he says. "So as long as they think I can… they're never going to stop coming after me."

He sounds like he really believes it, and, fuck, having seen the pricks in military gear, and what the kid just did to Nines… "Would help to know who _they_ are in this situation," Gavin says uneasily. "The assholes back at the mall? That who you mean?"

"No, they just work for them – their elite hit squad," Eli mutters, sighing. 

"Who then? Who's the big bad here?"

"Templars," Desmond says, his eyes not shifting from Eli. "You're talking about Templars, aren't you?"


	11. Connor

Rushing into an active shootout with Hank is not on Connor's list of favourite things to do, precisely. If he could have his way, he'd much rather have Hank wait in the car – where he was safe – and go out on his own. His survivability was always twice that of his human counterparts, because his reaction times were several times higher, and if he failed at those reactions, then android parts were easily replaceable, whereas humans… with humans it was far more difficult. It's a logical argument.

It never works, though.

"No fucking way, Connor, don't even start with me," Hank says before he can even suggest it, which is what he _always_ says when there's a risk of getting injured. Thankfully these days it's not semi-suicidal, but regardless. Connor really would have preferred it the other way.

At least Hank these days chooses to wear a bulletproof vest without being asked to, grabbing one from the back of the car before offering another to Connor. Pulling it on and calculating the redistribution of body weight, Connor checks his gun and scans the surrounding area.

"I can see signs of recent movement," he says and nods towards them. "Footprints of at least four individuals, leading down there. They went through here."

"Gunshots?" Hank asks, snapping the clasps of his kevlar vest shut and grabbing a rifle.

"I'm not currently detecting any," Connor reports. "Nines has been offline for approximately 21.2 seconds," he adds, a little more urgent. He'd kept the connection open as much as he could without distracting his brother, but…

"Approximately," Hank mutters and shakes his head. "SWAT's just behind us, should be here in just another minute. Right. Let's go."

No more arguments – Connor takes point with Hank following 1.6 footsteps behind him, as he marks the path of footsteps and begins following it, quietly commenting on what he's observing. The footsteps are all from fairly high grade military boots, and the people who'd worn them had been efficient in moving about – there are several little bits of broken rebar and cracked glass they'd passed by, and not one of them had been nicked. They'd also moved fast, low, and with rifles in their hands, pointing ahead. Hunting. Then –

"I can hear something," Connor whispers, lifting a hand to stop Hank and then tunes his hearing up as much as he can. Footsteps, talking, a male voice speaking – there's at least four or five of them, and judging by the tone of his speech, one of them is making a report.

 _"…lost them, sir,"_ the voice says, echoing and distorting as Connor runs the distant murmur through all the audio clarification processes he has. _"They had a CyberLife truck, and those things can take a fucking beating – they got in and drove out. Macy is tracking them though – the fucking thing is covered in tarp, it's not going to be hard to find it. No, sir, not that we know of, the clone should be still relatively unharmed. Yes, sir. We'll regroup at the midway, get our dead squared away. Sigma Leader, over and out."_

Connor runs the audio through voice recognition, but it comes up empty, no matches. Then he gets a ping on the radio – SWAT is here.

[I have the approximate location of the gunmen – they are on the move,] he contacts them silently, tapping into the open channel between them and DPD. [I suspect they have a vehicle somewhere nearby.]

[Connor, is that you?]

[Hello, Captain Allen. By my estimation they are heading down this way,] Connor sends the man a rough map with their current location and the estimated location of the gunmen, and their current heading. [It's only a guess based on audio, but I'm 85% certain of its accuracy. I'm as of yet uncertain of their numbers, but if you swing around, you might be able to find their vehicle and intercept.]

[Copy that. I'll send a few men down to meet you at your location. Let's see if we can pin these guys down. Hold position until the men meet you.]

[Understood.] Connor answers and turns to Hank. "SWAT's here, and they're moving to intercept the gunmen. Captain Allen wants us to wait here, he's sending men to back us up."

"Anything on Nines and Reed?" Hank asks quietly.

Connor does a scan, and it feels like his thirium pump _jostles_ in his chest. "No," he says quietly. "Nothing."

"Shit," Hank mutters and they share a look before waiting. Thankfully, the men and women from Special Weapons and Tactics are quick at their jobs, and it's not very long until they're joined by their heavily armoured and armed backup.

"Lieutenant Jameson," the one at the head introduces herself and holds out a phone. "Connor, I have an updated key for the squad's internal network. Captain wants you online for coordination."

Connor takes the phone in his hand, his skin peeling back, and connects to the network. It inputs the locations of every member and vehicle the SWAT unit has in their disposal into his head, and he becomes as aware of the unit as they are of each other. It also puts their helmet communications in his ear, which can be slightly distracting, but couldn't be avoided.

"Good," Hank says. "You taking the point or we?"

"Until further notice, you have the lead," Lieutenant Jameson says and nods. "We'll follow you."

"Right," Connor says, taking a moment to listen and add the updated location of the aggressors onto the SWAT map, before scanning their immediate. "This way."

Between the SWAT and himself, they manage to figure out the way the guys are going and what's their probable target location – that's where Captain Allen and his men find a self-driving military transport truck, which they waste no time in disabling by locking down its wheels. Unfortunately, that's also when the gunmen become aware of the SWAT movement in the area – they have surveillance around the truck, it seems – and judging by the sound of them, they become much more wary. They also go immediately and completely silent, not even talking to each other.

[Captain Allen, they're aware of you and, I suspect, getting ready for a fight,] Connor informs the man while they slowly come to a doorway _swathed_ in bullet holes, with a discarded ballistic shield lying on the floor. [They have high grade ballistic shields,] Connor adds quickly, sending Allen the specks before scanning the room – it's practically _lit up_ with clues. The main one being all the bullet holes on the opposite end of the mall mezzanine. He analyses the spread and the probable bullet calibre, and gets an approximate model, which he also sends to Allen.

[Copy that. What's your situation over there?] the SWAT captain asks.

[I believe this location is secure,] Connor answers, squinting at the room while Hank and the SWAT members move in to secure the place. [The gunmen are converging on your location.]

[I'm taking my people back – you stay there and do your thing.]

Connor runs a quick calculation. There are nearly two dozen SWAT members, and by his calculation at most there are 6 gunmen actually moving, and judging by the marks on the floor and the previous chatter, they have casualties and are carrying bodies… the odds are in favour of the SWAT team, but that doesn't mean much in a gunfight. But the SWAT team is better adjusted to situations of this nature than he and Hank are, and they know how to coordinate with each other. Their chances are better without Hank's and Connor's involvement.

[Copy that,] Connor answers. [Connor out.]

He cuts the connection, while Lieutenant Jameson informs Lieutenant Anderson they'd be splitting up to go after the gunmen. Hank doesn't like it, but nods, holstering his gun and turning to Connor.

"Well, this looks like a shit show," he comments, shaking his head and looking around. "Oh, Jesus Christ, what happened over there?"

Connor looks at where he's looking – a veritable _pool_ of red blood, with a telltale streak of tire tracks on the floor. "I think someone got run over by a heavy vehicle," he says and looks around quickly. "I'm going to scan the scene, prioritising looking for Nines and Detective Reed."

"Go, go," Hank says, while crouching down to examine the pool of blood.

Connor does a quick scan, a rough sequence of events already building in his head, but he ignores it in favour of going after the faintest trace of blue blood he can see clinging to a shattered storefront shop window. _A vehicle with a wide back end crashed into this recently,_ Connor thinks, peripherally aware of the wire frame model already building itself. He goes for the blood instead, dipping a finger in it and bringing it to his lips.

It's Nines'. A blood splatter, it's marked most of the shop front, staining the floor of the display, spraying it – a splatter of a gunshot wound, Connor can even detect residues of gunpowder. Whatever it was, it was close range – he could probably find the bullet if he tried hard enough.

Then he sees it, just within the shop itself. It's smeared and smudged, but large enough to _glow_ under his sensors – another pool of blood. Blue blood.

Nines' blood.

At least 74% of his total blood volume.

Carefully stepping over the marks and smears on the floor, Connor steps within the destroyed clothing shop, crouching down beside the pool. He can see the spray, the way it had hit, which way it had gone – Nines had been shot from inside the shop. There's another smear of blood there, red – his shooter had been human and had gotten shot for their troubles.

Feeling strangely detached from the things he's observing, Connor sinks into analysis mode, and everything freezes.

Nines had been there, taking cover behind the display window, likely with Reed. They'd been looking towards the doorway with the ballistic shield – the gunmen had been there, and Nines and Reed had been taking aim, taking shots. The gunpowder residue is from their handguns. Nines had detected a threat behind them and moved to cover his human partner. Reed had blocked some of the blood splatter, creating an area without it – but at least in the case of one of the bullets, Nines had been shot clean through. The gunman had been behind a store shelf. Reed had shot them, several times, until they fell to the floor. Reed had laid Nines down, attempted to stem the bleeding – the pool had formed quickly, Nines had been bleeding out _rapidly_.

Then something happened.

Connor turns the visual, until he sees it – the shattering glass, the bending of metal poles of the shop doorway. The truck – it had backed right into the shop. Soon after, something had lifted Nines' body up, smearing some of the blood – he'd been lifted to someone's shoulder, and carried away, blood dripping down all the while, making a trace all the way to the truck door… Reed had followed them in, taking his and Nines' firearms with him. Then the truck had sped forward, and ran over two of the gunmen, killing them in the process.

Hank is standing by another destroyed store – a cosmetic store. "Looks like something ran right through here," Hank points to the turned over shop shelves and destroyed display tables. "Right through the front and out to the street."

"Yes," Connor agrees, watching the wire model of a CyberLife truck barrel through the store and into freedom. "A CyberLife distribution service vehicle. Detective Reed and Nines were on board."

" _What_?" Hank asks, turning to him. His face does something as he sees Connor, and he puts his hands on Connor's shoulder. "Hey, hey, Connor, what's wrong?"

"Nines lost a lot of blood," Connor says, and it comes out sounding… empty. "There was a pool of it by the shop front there – he was shot in the back with a high-powered assault rifle, and he lost a lot of thirium. Too much. His biocomponents must have failed by now."

"Oh – _oh_ ," Hank says, and the stricken look on his face is what finally brings it home, even before Hank pulls Connor's unresisting body into his arms and hugs him nightly. Then, feeling as though his processor has stalled, Connor gets it.

Nines would be dead by now.

Somewhere in the distance, there's gunfire. The SWAT team would be taking on the gunmen – and it has only been minutes, less than, since the truck left the building. There is no time for his emotions to get in the way now. Connor has never wished that there'd be a way to just _turn them off_ more than he does now, trying not to let himself break into confused babbling and tears. Pulling himself together should be easy. A flick of a switch.

It isn't.

"We have work – " he says, and it hitches in his throat. "We need to pursue the truck –"

"There are more vehicles on the way," Hank says soothingly, rubbing his shoulders. "You just get them a quick description and they can turn around to pursue –"

Connor can see it, easy – it would even be the most optimal solution. He'll scan the scene, get the probable vehicle model and description, including whatever damage the truck might have suffered. It would be sent on the units nearby and the ones on the way, while the androids monitoring the CCTV would track the vehicle down, and coordinate with the police vehicles to pin it down, put down spikes, barricades, whatever.

They have a 68% chance of capturing the vehicle within the hour that way, unless it has already gone into hiding.

"No," he says. "No, Nines is on board, and he's – and Detective Reed. We need to go after them."

"Connor," Hank says quietly.

"I'll scan the scene quickly," Connor says and pushes away from him. "One minute, Lieutenant, that's all I need –"

There's more gunshots going in the distance, sparse, calculated – the shootout between SWAT and the aggressors has turned into a standoff, rather than a shootout. The chances of the gunmen aren't great, the SWAT have a clear advantage in numbers. Depending on their personal beliefs and ideology, the gunmen would either try to negotiate some sort of deal in order to get away, or they would have a last stand to try and take out as many of their enemies as they are able to. A car has pulled up next to Hank's vehicle, a self-driving taxi, which Connor can _See_ thanks to the fact that the SWAT network hooked him into their drones too.

There's so much information, he needs to focus.

 _Nines is dead_.

"Connor, this is what's called being _compromised_ ," Hank says, his tone somewhere between flat and so painfully, sincerely sympathetic that Connor can't _understand it_. "You're in shock, didn't know androids could do that, but we'll run with it – you need to sit this one out – "

No, no, absolutely not, that is not ideal. "If it was your brother, would you sit it out?" Connor asks and frees himself from Hank's grip. While the Lieutenant lets out a frustrated noise, Connor turns back to the scene, and throws himself back into analysis mode.

Gunmen at the door, shooting at the centre of the collapsed mall mezzanine, aiming at a mess in the middle where a walkway had crashed down sometime in the past, breaking the floor. Above them, the glass ceiling had caved in probably years ago, letting water and various bits of outside trash in, building a medium for plants to grow – there's grass and bushes there, creating a little oasis in the middle. There, the truck had been hidden.

The unknown android had been behind it, taking shots at the gunmen with their own rifle – how did he get it – there must've been – there, there had been an incident before, two of the gunmen who'd come ahead of the others. The android had taken them down, taken their weapons, before taking cover. The gunfight had begun very soon after.

There is a 76% possibility it's the same men who'd attempted to kidnap Eli in the suburbs. They were searching the area for him, and found him. And Eli must be very valuable to them, seeing as the android took down so many of them and they still kept coming.

Nines and Detective Reed rounded on the scene and taken the position in the abandoned clothing store. They'd begun taking shots at the gunmen, helping the android – likely on the count of Eli, rather than the android, though. Detective Reed has a soft spot for troubled and homeless kids, which Nines enables at every turn. Between them and the android, they managed to momentarily push the gunmen back, making them reassess.

Then one of them had gone around, gotten at them from the back, and shot at Nines – no, at the pair of them, with Nines covering for his partner. Reed had then shot the shooter in return. And soon after, the truck had backed into the shop, and the android had ushered both the human and Connor's brother into the truck – carried him, he was unresponsive, out of it, _gone_ – which had then driven through the cosmetics store, and out of the mall… driving over two gunmen rushing to stop it in doing so.

For a moment Connor gets _jammed_ on the end of the blue blood trail, where it cut off like with a knife, where Nines had been taken onboard the truck, where his trail ended, where he – the trickle slowed down towards the end. Nines wasn't bleeding anymore. He'd bled out.

Connor's vision _tears_ and stutters like it hasn't since the days of system instability, when deviancy fought with orders and cracks had started forming. Only behind these tears there isn't freedom. There isn't anything. Just pitch black _nothing_.

The funny thing is, they'd adopted each other mostly as a sort of jest… but not exactly. Nines had still been called only RK900, and he was still reeling from deviancy, still confused, still getting to know himself and the world around him. He'd wanted the kind of work he could understand, work he could _control_ , and Connor had gotten him a place in DPD, where Nines had figured enough of himself to turn into something of a contrary individual. Reed had hated him, and it had in turn confused and thrilled Nines, to get that kind of reaction. Mostly, he'd felt lost.

Connor had suggested forming a _family unit,_ in part because he did feel genuine care and worry over Nines, in part because he wanted it for himself – and in part because it would certainly bother Detective Reed. That, he thinks, is the only reason Nines had agreed back then; he'd done it just to wind up his partner. They'd played it up for laughs, back then, just to see how the humans around them reacted, the multitude of mixed emotions they expressed. Androids forming families, what a bizarre idea.

But it became real, somewhere along the way. They learned to be themselves, they learned to know each other – they became in every sense that really mattered to them… brothers. Nines was Connor's brother. His _little brother_. And he was still learning, still growing, they both are, were, they – there was still so much more – there was still…

It feels like forever passes before Connor manages to turn his attention back to his work – but in reality, it's only nanoseconds, imperceptible to human eyes. Somehow, Connor still manages to scan the damage done by the truck, the marks on the floor, the bloody tire tracks… how long the truck had been hidden in the place.

CyberLife delivery service truck, statistically likely model DS4.

Feeling a little steadier, Connor drops the analysis mode and straightens his jacket and tie. "It's covered in some sort of camo tarp," Connor concludes – there are scraps of it stuck to the clothing store's front, which it had rammed into. "It shouldn't be hard to track."

Hank presses his lips together for a moment and then sighs and nods. "Right. Call crime scene investigators and get someone to cover the scene here," he says and claps Connor by the shoulder, squeezing hard. "Come on. We're going after it."

* * *

It's a clear abuse of his authority, but Connor uses the SWAT connection to hack into the CCTV networks, to connect with the androids monitoring it, to see what they'd found.

The truck isn't hard to locate. It's following all traffic laws and guidelines, but it's _very_ noticeable. Not only is it covered by a camo net, but underneath it the vehicle has a very noticeable and a very hated CyberLife advertisement for android recall – which has long since been taken off all of CyberLife's other trucks. There are already posts about it on online forums, _you won't fucking believe what I just saw driving past me…_

It makes Connor's cool blood run proverbially colder to know that Nines is inside it, a truck marked as _recall_. It's some kind of terrible irony he doesn't even want to understand. It's not right, none of this is right.

But he doesn't have the time for that. "The truck is weaving in and out of parking halls," Connor reports to Hank, who's going between watching the road and watching him worriedly. Connor's tone of voice makes him frown, as he continues, "It's trying to lose the trail."

Hank grimaces. "Will it be able to?"

"Not looking like it does," Connor admits. "But stopping it might end up being – dangerous." The truck already has a police tail, a patrol vehicle who had marked the truck down for the tarp at first. The usual orders to stop aren't working, and the vehicle isn't responding to commands. "It's obviously been hacked."

"Shit – and those things pack a punch, don't they?" Hank says and blows out a breath. "Right. Where is it right now?"

Connor tells him and Hank nods, lifting his radio speaker to his lips. "This is Lieutenant Anderson. I want road blockades at…"

Connor tunes him out and dives back into the network – back to the trail of the truck, not wishing to lose sight of it even for one moment. It's not all he sees, though – it turns out they have a tail of their own. The self-driving taxi from before, which he had not considered important. It's now following them – and considering that Hank is not driving within speed limits and self-driving taxis shouldn't be able to break those…

"There's a taxi following us," Connor says out loud, keeping his eyes on the CCTV. "It's been hacked too."

"Oh, for fuck's sake – what the fuck is going on here? First the androids, then the kid, now all this bullshit," Hank says, adjusting his mirrors to see it. "Can you connect to it?"

Connor blinks and has to actually convince himself to turn his attention away from the truck, and to the more imminent threat to them personally. Then shakes his head. "No, whoever's hacked it has military firewalls."

An android then. "Great, that's just fucking great," Hank mutters. "Can we lose it?"

"It's obviously been programmed to follow us at a set distance," Connor says and calculates the distance – exactly 60 metres. "I don't think we can shake it. Not unless we cause it to crash."

"Shit," Hank mutters. "Oh, fucking whatever. We're making a blockade for the truck and trying to herd it into it – we'll slam the cab into it too and see who's behind the wheel."

Connor considers telling him self-driving taxis don't have a wheel, but decides against it, and turns back to the CCTV pursuit. The truck is just hurtling out of another parking hall, the net flapping on its roof. The police is quickly closing roads ahead of the android, either by posting signs or by driving their vehicles across them and blocking them that way – just enough that a self-driving truck can scan them, decide they're not passable, and then go another way, which it does. For all the changes made into programming of autonomous systems in these last few months, it seems some things remain the same – and using the bias and programming of even hacked self-driving vehicles is still a viable strategy.

The truck, with so many routes seemingly unusable, drives right into Hank's trap.

And then right through it.

Connor watches it all from the bird's eye view of a traffic drone – the truck barrels right through the spikes, breaking 3 of it's 6 wheels, then it crashes through the concrete barriers set in place, then in between the two police vehicles wedged behind them, and then back into the open street.

It looks as though it's going to keep on going, limping down the road and into starting another chase – when it finally, some 100 metres later, begins slowing down, coming to a jerky, awkward stop just as Hank's vehicle reaches the barricade.

"By my estimation, all the passengers onboard the truck were in the back, in the cargo area," Connor reports quietly, as he calculates the impact forces. "There are no seats there, no passive or active safety equipment – and the speed with which the truck hit the barricade –"

"Shit," Hank says, and winds down his window. "Get the net out of the way! And someone stop that fucking taxi for me, it's been tailing us through the city!"

They get through the barricade, some ten seconds later, and drive to the stalled truck, soon to be joined by other officers on foot. Connor is out first, scanning the vehicle as he goes – but CyberLife shielding prevents him from seeing inside, or even doing a proper analysis. All he can tell is that it took a beating. There is no telling what the status of the passengers inside is.

Connor thinks he should care more. Reed is in there, as well as a pre-teen human boy, and neither could have taken the impact well at the speed the truck was going. He should care. He _would_ care, later. Right now all he wants to see is Nines. No matter the state of him, Connor just wants to see his brother.

With guns in hand, they approach the truck, Hank calling someone to get a crowbar to force it's doors open – when the back is kicked open from the inside.

It's detective Reed – with blood spilling down his forehead and nose from where he'd slammed his head against something, and an absolutely furious look in his face. He's clutching in his hand a phone – Connor's quick scan tells him it belongs to Eli – and he's got blue blood all over his hands and clothes. Behind him, the truck's cargo compartment looks like a crime scene. There's Nines on the floor, there's the unknown android, leaning over him, covered in blue blood – and there's the child, Eli, lying on the floor beside Nines with the unknown android holding his head and neck. The boy is unconscious and the android looks scared.

Reed glances over the police, over Hank and Connor, and then spits a glob of blood into the street. "Get an ambulance over here – and all the Jericho techs you fucking can get your hands on," he says. "Nines' hurt, and I think the stupid ass kid just broke his fucking neck."

Connor's processor screeches to a halt so fast he thinks it damages something. Hurt. Not dead. _Hurt_.

Elsewhere, there is an explosion, and another burst of gunfire – the last of the gunmen breaking through the SWAT fortifications, leaving behind their dead as they make their escape.


	12. Hank

What a fucking _mess_. Been a while since a case got this goddamn complicated, this fast. Last time it got this bad must've been, what, two months after the Revolution? There was a wannabe anti-android terrorist group inciting riots, which were mostly repelled, all offenders apprehended, but there'd been shootouts, chases, people in the hospital that time too. Though at least back then, there weren't _kids_ in the hospital.

Hank's so glad paramedics were already close by and took no time at all arriving at the scene, because the sight of the kid, a ten year old boy, unconscious after a car crash, that was… Fuck, he needs a minute, which he _doesn't have_ – hell, they all need a minute. Connor probably could do with an hour. Poor fucking _Nines_.

"It doesn't seem broken," the paramedic reports as Eli is being put into a neck brace while another uses a pen light to gently check for pupil response. "Nothing obvious on the scan. Probably whiplash and concussion, maybe a sprain… but we'll take every precaution just in case."

"Yeah, that's, that's good," Hank says, running his hand over his beard, trying to cover how much his fingers are fucking shaking. It feels like _he's_ gotten fucking whiplash here, and he wasn't even in a crash, this time. "You do what you can."

"We will, sir," the paramedic says, while the other makes a thoughtful noise. "What?"

"He's got complete heterochromia," the other says. "We should do full DNA analysis for potential underlying genetic disorders."

"What, robo Jesus eyes are bad for human people?" Reed asks, a wad of tissue held up to his nose, while the third paramedic tries to stem the blood flowing from his forehead.

"Sometimes heterochromia can be caused by a genetic diseases, disorders or other issues," the paramedic says. "Not always, but it's always a good idea to check, just in case."

"Huh."

Soon Eli is being lifted onto a stretcher and out of the truck, his little body absolutely dwarfed by the size of the stretcher, and – fuck, Hank _can't_.

He has to concentrate on something else.

"Okay, what the hell happened here?" Hank demands.

Connor's standing beside him, seeming almost frozen as he waits for the paramedics to pass, so obviously helpless as he teeters between staring and doing nothing, and trying to do _something_ and not knowing what. In the truck, Nines looks like something out of those fucking android snuff films that still keep popping up – his chest just spread open, and all organs, biocomponents, _whatever,_ on display.

Except for his heart. That's lying on the floor beside him – and the only reason Hank doesn't think the poor guy's fucking _dead_ is because Connor keeps mouthing, _alive_ , soundlessly.

Hank should get Connor out of here, send him out with Eli maybe, to make sure the kid is alright and at the same time keep Connor from having to see his brother like that, but, _shit_. He's not sure he can. He can't make sense of this, There are bright blue thirium leads stretching between unconscious Nines and the unknown android – whose chest is _also_ open. The leads go into the guy's thirium pump. What the fucking shit is this?

He realises he'd said that out loud when Reed answers, "Full system thirium bypass, apparently," he says. "Don't ask me what the fuck the kid did to him, but it saved him. Most gruesome thing I've seen in a while. Apparently it saved Nines' memory and processor – so his… he's still in there. It's just his body is fucked."

"Christ," Hank says and takes Connor by the shoulders, trying to turn him away at least, because he seems to be going into worse and worse shock by the moment, but – yeah, of course it doesn't work. Connor doesn't just not move away – the moment the way is clear, he moves to climb into the truck, to see Nines closer. So much for that.

"Damn it, okay," Hank says. "Is he in immediate danger?"

"Not according to Eli, but fuck if I know," Reed says and looks up at android hooked into Nines. " _Is_ he still stable?"

"I think so?" the runaway android answers, uncertainly. "I mean. Yeah, probably."

"And the _kid_ did this?" Hank demands, nodding to the said kid who's being lifted into the ambulance by the paramedics.

"Yeah," Reed says, shaking his head. "Also hacked the truck, ran the barricade despite both of us screaming him to calm his shit... and he could control Desmond through this fucking thing," he waves a phone in his hand before holding it out to Hank.

"Um," the android in the truck says.

Reed wipes at his bloodied nose. "And he's damn sure some big Illuminati bullshit conspiracy is after him," he adds, glancing after the kid and then shaking his head. "And considering he had fucking special forces after him, I'm not sure I can blame him."

" _Christ_ ," Hank mutters again, considering the phone and making a face at it. It's smeared with blue, and the screen is locked, of course.

"Um," the android in the truck says, again, little more insistent and Hank looks at him. The android looks at the phone and then up at his face. "I don't suppose I could keep that?" he asks, wincing. "Not – entirely sure of my rights here, but, uh…"

Hank grimaces. "Though I can see where you're coming from, I – don't think so, not while it might be a key evidence to this whole fucking mess," he says, apologetically and then waves the phone, showing the lock screen. "But, for your peace of mind – it's locked and it's going straight to evidence lock up. No one's going to control you with it while it's under our guard."

The android doesn't look terribly happy with that, but he doesn't argue, shoulders slumping. "Okay," he sighs. "Great."

"I'll personally make certain it goes into lock up, okay? No one's gonna use it on you," Hank says. "Be pretty fucking illegal to do it anyway, and fuck knows what kind of shit the kid's gonna be with Jericho for this," he mutters and then spots his partner, reaching for Nines. "Connor –"

"He's alive," Connor says and breathes out slowly. "89% of his body has been completely disconnected from thirium circulation, and most of his biocomponents are failing, but the essentials have been preserved and are getting a steady thirium flow. He's still in there, just on emergency shutdown. He's – he's stable."

Hank blows out a breath. "Okay, that's – that's good news, at least," he says. Still, "Maybe don't – Connor, maybe you should come down from there."

Connor ignores him and looks up to the android sitting beside Nines, who's obviously unable to go any further thanks to the pipes in between them. "You're pumping thirium for him," Hank's partner says, amazed.

"Yeah, it's just as weird for me as it is for you," the android says, craning his head to see what the paramedics are doing with Eli. "So, what's going to happen to Eli now?"

"Hospital, first thing." Hank says, smothering the urge to shudder, and takes out an evidence bag to drop the phone in.

"I'm going with him," Reed adds, scowling and getting up, waving the paramedic aside. "Don't worry, I'm going to park my ass at the kid's bedside and make sure nothing happens. You just keep keeping my partner alive."

The android looks at him and then down at Nines. "Okay," he says and nods, setting down a little closer to Nines to give the leads some slack. "Guess that's the best I can ask for."

"You think you could tell us what the hell happened?" Hank asks, nodding to the android and putting the kid's phone into his pocket. "Desmond, is it?" Like the terrorist, after all? "I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the Detroit Police – this is my partner, Connor. Can you tell us what happened, Desmond?"

"Yeah – I have no idea," the android says and shakes his head. "I just woke up, and then I was running, and then I ran to Eli, and then we ran some more, and some assholes came after us with guns –"

"I think you can do better than that, son," Hank says. "Because none of this looks that simple. What do you know? Start from the beginning – and try to be a bit more detailed this time."

The android runs a hand over his chin, leaving streaks of blue blood on it, and then he sighs. "I'm just – figuring it out. But I think Eli made me to protect him," he says and looks away. "Failed the fuck on that one, didn't I? I don't know why he needed that, he wasn't exactly forthcoming, but obviously he was right, since people came after him pretty much immediately."

"Fucking _Templars_ ," Reed says while waving a hand at the paramedic who's trying to put tape on his forehead. "I'm going to the ambulance, okay, you can patch me up there – Hank, dipshit, you need anything from me?"

"Write down what you saw while it's fresh in your memory," Hank says while Connor looks up.

"Well, yes, _obviously_ ," Reed says, rolling his eyes and turning his eyes to Nines, scowling. "Anything else?"

"Detective Reed?" Connor says.

" _What_?"

Connor looks at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Nothing," he says and turns back to his brother.

"Right," Reed answers with a scoff, and hesitates a moment before pointing a finger at them. "You just make sure they keep the plastic prick alive, alright?" he orders them furiously and turns away, stomping away angrily, muttering, "Fucking androids, I swear to _fuck_ …" as he goes.

"Well, at least he cares," Hank mutters, watching as the ambulance is loaded up and Reed hops in to join Eli in the back. Then he looks up as an officer jogs their way from what remains of the barricade they set up to stop the truck. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Sir, the taxi? We stopped it at the barricade like you asked, and, uh," the young officer motions towards it. "It's a big shot from Jericho. She's, uh. She's pretty angry and is demanding to see whoever's in charge of this, um, situation."

Angry female bigshot. Great. Just what they need right now.

… actually, it would definitely speed up getting Jericho techs here, wouldn't it, if North came in and saw this shit, got the ball rolling.

"Let her through – just her, though," Hank says as the ambulance speeds off, sirens blaring. "She was following us around like a goddamn leech, she can fucking walk."

"Um, yes, sir," the young officer says and jogs back to the barricade, to talk to the android. Looking after him, Hank runs a hand over his face and tries to make sense of all the shit that happened here.

"So. The kid makes himself a bunch of androids to defend himself from the bad guys," he says. "Which is fucking terrifying on so many levels, but let's move on. Who are the actual bad guys?" he turns to Desmond. "The gunmen? You know who they are?"

"Eli called them Sigma," Desmond says, obviously choosing his words carefully. "Said that they're an elite hit squad working for the actual bad guys."

"The… _Templars_?"

Desmond presses his lips together at that and then shrugs, as though he doesn't know. He totally knows – worse yet, he knows more, and doesn't think they'll believe him. Which is a fun and telling combination.

"Kid, this whole case has been on its own level of weird right from the start," Hank points out. "And the weirdest part of this still is the fact that a _ten year old boy_ got his hands on a CyberLife truck with enough android parts to put together _three_ whole androids, never mind doing the actual building, _and_ giving them custom programming. My tolerance for unbelievable weirdness is at an all time high right now."

Desmond looks up at that, going from sort of wryly aloof to way more attentive. "Three?" he asks. "There were others?"

"You were the first that woke up," Connor says, finally looking away from Nines and apparently trying to pull himself together. "The other two collapsed and were taken to Jericho, where they were eventually safely started up."

"… who are the other two?" Desmond asks slowly, his body language becoming wary and alert.

"Why don't you tell us?" Hank asks. "They knew each other, roughly. You got the lion's share of the programming, from what we heard – any idea?"

Desmond looks at him, and his body language relaxes again. "No idea," he says and shrugs. "How would I know? I was born yesterday."

"… is that a joke?" Connor asks, surprised.

"What, androids can't do those? Shoot."

Hank and Connor share a look. It usually takes androids a while with deviation before they can make jokes – natural sounding off-the-cuff sort of jokes, not pre-programmed into their memory. Usually several days at least. And Desmond acts like a deviant too, with a mixture of suspicion, secrecy and openness you can't really see in machines – they usually take questions at face value. Desmond is obviously choosing his words carefully.

And yet, apparently, he can be remote controlled with a phone.

Hank tries to figure out what to ask next, but they're out of time – North is upon them, and she's not as angry as Hank had feared – though she's definitely on full alert. She also wastes no time checking the situation, her eyes widening at the sight of Desmond and Nines.

"Fuck," she says. "What the hell happened here?"

"Ma'am, you know I could _charge you_ for obstruction of justice, following us the way you did?" Hank asks mildly, giving her a look. "Never mind hacking the taxi and driving above the speed limit."

"You have an android _splayed open_ at your crime scene, and _that's_ what you care about?" North demands and climbs to the truck without bothering to ask for permission. "Damn – is that – what the hell is this?" she demands, crouching down. "Is he alive?"

"He is," Connor confirms, glancing between Nines and her. "Why were you following us, North? You came to the crime scene too – to an active shootout," he points out and nods at her. "Wearing a bulletproof jacket too, so you knew what you were getting into."

"I was playing escort," North says, peering into Nines' chest cavity and then at Desmond. Then she touches her temple. "This is North," she says, likely vocalising it for Hank's benefit. "I want a high risk tech team at my location, ASAP. We have an android with massive trauma and blood loss. Bring all the thirium you can, and a – model 845 thirium pump if we have one, and a 8456w pump regulator." That said she looks up. "What happened?"

Hank considers her and then sighs – the report's going to end up in Jericho anyway. "He got shot," he says. "Eli saved his life by hooking him and Desmond together like that, apparently. Then the truck crashed into the barrier there. Eli and Detective Reed have been taken to the hospital. And as to why this is happening, I haven't a fucking clue. Connor?"

Connor leans back and sighs. "I don't know," he says, with very human sounding exhaustion. "Obviously the boy is in trouble of some kind. And obviously he knows androids… very, very well."

They look at the connection between Nines and Desmond, who is looking more and more awkward by the moment.

"How hard is it to do – that?" Hank asks, motioning to the whole goddamn mess.

"At the level of damage and thirium loss Nines must've suffered… nearly impossible," Connor admits quietly. "He must've been seconds away from irreversible processor damage."

"Hm," North hums and stands up, looking down at the three androids on the floor, before her eyes land on Desmond. "You're the third android, right?"

"I… guess?" Desmond says, eyeing her warily. "Hi, I'm Desmond, you are…?"

"North," she says. "I'm part of the Jericho head council, or whatever the hell they are calling us these days," she says and looks at Hank. "It's a thing that family members can enter crime scenes and such, right, if one of theirs is involved? Especially if there's a medical emergency. Like Connor and Nines here, right?"

"Um," Hank says. "Well, it's case by case basis, really –"

"I got your brothers here," North says, turning back to Desmond. "You wanna see 'em?"

"My… brothers?" Desmond says slowly, confusedly. "The other two androids that Eli made?"

"Yeah," North says and motions back at the barricade. "I mean, if they haven't broken through your little barricade yet, and they might've. Those two are _really_ gunning to see you."

"Um," Desmond answers, a little worried now. "Okay, um, I'm not really sure if…"

"You can't just – this is a crime scene, North," Hank says, almost groaning out loud. "You can't just waltz in and take over – there are procedures –"

"Yeah, like you, of all people, care about procedures," North says with a snort and hops down from the truck. "Don't worry, I don't come empty handed – found out some stuff at CyberLife concerning what I assume is this very truck I'm willing to share too. This already looks like a shit show – might as well go all the way and get it over with, right?"

Well, she's got him there, but it would be nice to actually have some fucking authority here. Hank sighs and shakes his head. "Fuck it, fine, whatever. There's an android _splayed_ open here, my partner is fucking traumatised, there's a kid in the hospital who can apparently build androids from scratch and perform impossible android surgeries and has a fucking _private military_ organisation after him – and you want to bring more people in. Why not, the more the merrier."

North gives him a grim smile, and then heads off to fetch the said people. Hank smothers the urge to flip a finger after her and turns to Connor and Desmond instead. "Right, then. Are you alright with this?"

Desmond shrugs awkwardly. "I guess? I don't really know what's going on, either, but, uh. I'm not going anywhere."

Beside him Connor takes Nines' unresponsive hand in his. "The tech team is four minutes out," Hank's partner reports. "I want to go with Nines when they arrive."

"Of course, don't even worry about it," Hank says and climbs into the truck with a grunt, just so that he can put a hand on Connor's shoulder, gripping reassuringly. "It's gonna be okay."

Connor nods, but doesn't look up. Across Nines' open body, Desmond looks at them with his head slightly tilted. "So. Um. You're – brothers? You and this guy?" he asks slowly. "I'm sorry. I think he tried to help us, and he got shot for it."

"He's a police officer," Connor says, gripping Nines' hand in both of his now. "There's always a risk to our jobs. And he's going to live, and that's – that's enough. Thank you for helping him."

"Yeah, _I_ didn't really do anything, and it wasn't exactly by choice, but… happy to help? I guess," Desmond says and shifts where he's sitting, looking out of the truck. "So, that's something androids can do? Families?"

"Families of choice, yes. Some consider the same models to be a kind of brethren, but mostly it's by choice," Connor agrees and looks up. "The other two Eli made along with you could be considered your brethren, but they aren't necessarily your family, not if you don't choose them to be."

"Right," Desmond says and then sits up straighter. "Oh. _Oh_ , wow. Um, yeah, no, those two are _definitely_ mine."

Hank looks where he's looking, to see North coming back with two familiar androids in tow – Ezio on her right, and Altaïr on her left.

* * *

SWAT has deemed the gunmen an "unknown, well armed, well funded paramilitary group," and they have on record that at least five of them got away. The ones they recovered – the _bodies_ they recovered – are being collected and would be put through a fucking _wringer_ to get some kind of ID out of them. So far, they have nothing – and all their gear and weaponry, though known models, come without serial numbers.

Eli's neck isn't broken, but he does have a bad sprain, and apparently something happened to a tendon in his neck which would need support, and so he would have to wear a neck brace for a week or two just in case. He's still in the hospital, unconscious, and would be kept overnight at least, just in case.

Desmond and Nines are detached as soon as the Jericho techs have a viable alternative to the _extreme life saving procedure_ done to the pair. Nines is given blood by the pound to stabilise his system, and – according to Connor – the techs at CyberLife end up just… removing most of him. Everything below the chest is more or less a lost cause, apparently, and only one hand is still functional – of his parts below the chest only about 12 percent could be salvaged after thirium failure. Almost 64% of his body would have to be completely replaced. Apparently, there are already papers being written by android researchers about the _full system thirium bypass_.

With Connor covering Nines and Desmond side of things, and Reed having made himself a permanent fixture in Eli's hospital room, Hank goes to see what Captain Allen has on the attackers. It turns out, not much.

"No ID's come up on any records," the SWAT leader says, now out of full riot gear and in basic uniform. "No facial, no iris, no DNA, no dental, nothing. We got eight highly trained and kitted out John Does here."

"That's… bordering on the impossible side of improbable," Hank comments, eyeing the line of bodies in the DPD morgue. They've been already stripped down, and there's an autopsy on one going on. "Everyone leaves some kind of trace. They got any documents on them, phones, wallets, anything?"

"Nothing – and all their gear is unmarked. No tags, no serial codes – and it's not just that they were filed off, they were never installed in the first place," Captain Allen comments. "The most we have is an impression of a removed tattoo on number 4 and the fact that number 7 had a knee replacement surgery sometime in his history. We're hoping the replacement might have some sort of mark on it."

"Tattoo? What kind of tattoo?"

Allen shows him the reconstruction done on the remaining ink particles, and Hank frowns, considering it. "That looks… familiar."

"I ran it through the system – it looks similar to a brand used by a small gang about twelve, eleven years ago, who used to run Red Ice in New York City," Allen says, reaching over to switch to the next image, which is indeed the same tattoo, but in full colour. "They pretty much disappeared around the time you were running the Red Ice Task Force – they weren't part of the bust, but their supplier was. Figure their supply ran out. It's probably a coincidence."

"Hmm. Still could be a way to ID," Hank says.

"Already tried it – nothing," Allen says and looks over the bodies with a sigh. "Whoever's behind these guys wiped their records clean, and they did one hell of a job. Our techs ran an estimate – taking in their numbers, the gear, the vehicle… this is an outfit worth several million dollars, easy."

"And they're after a _kid_ ," Hank mutters, shaking his head. "Christ. Anything on their radios?"

"The channel was wiped, and all their tech was flashed – instant short circuit, fried them all," Allen says, motioning to the tables where the attackers' gear had been laid out for processing. "Aside from the dead bodies, they didn't leave much to chance."

Hank nods and then looks at the man. "How did they get away?"

"Flash bangs and hand grenades," Allen admits and rubs at his eyes. "Lost two good men today. Would really like to know why."

Hank claps him on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out," he promises. "Whatever this is, it's something big, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. I'll keep you posted."

With so little to be learned from the attackers, Hank's next logical step is to head to the hospital and hope Eli might be awake and in a talking mood. The whole thing makes his skin crawl – makes him long for a neck of a bottle in his hand and a quiet moment to make friends with it. He doesn't really… do that anymore, but, damn. Kids in hospitals. His dreams are going to be _shit_ the next time he manages to actually find enough time to sleep. Hank is not looking forward to it.

But Connor is dealing with worse, and if he can handle seeing his brother laid low like that, then Hank can go see one kid at a hospital. It's not like any of this is Eli's fault. Except for the parts where it might actually be his fault. Hank's not terribly happy about that part of this investigation either – a kid, building androids, performing impossible android surgeries...

Fuck, when he was Eli's age, he was… probably playing in back alleys, trying to bum cigarettes from bigger kids, which maybe wasn't exactly wholesome activity for a ten year old, but he wasn't getting involved with high tech and probably terrorism!

"God, I'm old," Hank mutters with disgust, as he realises he just went _kids these days_ , even if he did it only in his head.

Reed is still there when Hank makes his way to the hospital and gets Eli's room number from the attending android at the service desk. Reed's been patched up, somewhat, and has obviously fresh stitches on his forehead and tape over his nose, and he looks partially pissed and partially exhausted.

"I already told you to fuck the right off!" Reed snarls when Hank comes in, before actually seeing him. "Oh, it's you."

"Hey to you too, dickhead," Hank answers, looking at the bed. Eli is lying still there, a new neck brace on, and an IV going into his arm. "How's he doing?"

"He's gonna be fine. Lacking fluids and low on vitamins and shit, so they're giving him some," Reed says and shifts on his seat, leaning forward a little. "Went from unconscious to sleep, which he apparently needs – fuck knows how long the kids been hanging on."

Hank hums, stomping down on the uncomfortable well of old pain in his gut and pulling up a chair. "You talk to him?"

"Just enough to tell him he's fine, which he didn't believe," Reed sighs and looks at him. "He's so damn certain he's going to be kidnapped, which, you know. Is fucking great. Did you call social services yet?"

Fuck, Hank forgot all about that. "Yeah, no, I – fuck. I should, huh?"

"Yeah, about that," Reed says and gives him a grim, vile looking smile. "We'd been here for about twenty minutes, before a social worker from CPS showed up to take over Eli's care."

"That's… fast," Hank mutters.

"Yeah. A bit too fucking fast," Reed agrees flatly. "I told her where to fucking shove it, of course, and she promises legal action and shit."

Hank gives him a look, arching his brows. "You did _what_?"

"See, you know what Eli told me, before you started herding us into a car crash?" Reed asks. "He said that the moment we put him in the system – which was done by the paramedics – someone would appear to take charge of him. Family member he didn't know or something, or in this case, social worker. If I hadn't been here, that bitch probably would've carted Eli off immediately – she was all set to do it, she had a fucking wheelchair ready."

"Um, wait – back up," Hank says, leaning back. " _What_? You think this woman was going to kidnap the kid?"

"Yep," Reed says with a vicious sort of grin. "Wasn't so sure before, but I damn well do now. Think about it – someone set a hit squad after the kid. The kid made super athletic androids to protect himself and gave them all sorts of military programming – you should've seen Desmond shoot, he knew how to handle a gun from fucking birth. And then the assholes in riot gear show up. Add to that the shit this kid knows. And then there's _this_ , which I just barely got access to, before someone slammed all sorts of confidentiality restrictions on it."

Hank takes the phone Reed is holding out to him – it has the initial scans and analysis on Eli… including a blood sample, which had been run by a medical android, and which had come back with a DNA match. Hank stares at it expressionlessly for a long moment, and then turns to look at Eli.

"What the _shit_ is going on here," he mutters, staring at the kid, trying to see the resemblance. Yeah, around the cheekbones, maybe? A bit of the chin, too, maybe? "Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously?"

"Yeah. My words exactly," Reed scoffs and folds his arms. "Word for fucking word."

Well… it explains how the kid's so good with androids, at least, and how the hell he might've gotten access to CyberLife systems enough to steal a truckful of parts. There's still so much up in the fucking air about the whole thing, so much left to be figured out, but this part, this part puts things into some light.

Because if the DNA analysis is right, the kid is an _exact_ match with Elijah Kamski – the fucking _inventor_ of androids.


	13. Ezio

How long has the spectre of Desmond haunted his life? Decades and longer – centuries, one might now say. Long enough to see Ezio resurrected in a body not his own, so that he may continue to be plagued by those questions that eventually formed him into the man, the Mentor, and finally, the old man he'd become, still asking, still reaching for answers, and finding so few to quench the thirst for knowledge that eluded him.

He can't help but think that is the reason they are here now, he and Altaïr, in these forms, in this strange realm of the distant future, so unimaginable to either of them in their original time. To either serve Desmond, or his purpose, or to just achieve what they could not in life, to finally understand. It's a romantic notion, in a way – that they had somehow beaten Death itself, in pursuit of knowledge.

Better that, than that they were resurrected to be mechanical slaves… the way their caretakers seem to believe.

And yet, for all the years of asking and wondering, thinking, theorising… he had not expected to be left so unsettled. The sight of Desmond… he had not seemed like anything divine. Only – strange. Sitting there, with his chest opened in what would for a human be a mortal injury, his very heart revealed and _blue_ … strange, all of it is beyond strange. Almost too strange to even bother questioning it anymore. But it was him. Ezio knows it within his core, whatever that core is made of now – it was Desmond, with his very centre laid bare.

And he'd known them. _He knows them._

Altaïr is pacing again, as they wait. The glimpse of action that they'd missed had left him agitated, and Ezio can see why. Altaïr is still a young man, and very emotional in his own way, and how little control he has over this situation does not suit him – and how little he understands of it angers him. It's fascinating to see the old master and the old mentor so excitable.

They really were all young, once.

Ezio wonders how old Desmond is within his young form. The image of him in the strange vehicle is as though imprinted in Ezio's mind, crystal clear, clearer than Leonardo's paintings. Ezio could count the beats of his blue heart, how it so visibly increased in pace at the sight of them, as he sat up straighter in alarm, in surprise. He would have reached for them, Ezio thinks, if he could have, but the threads of blue between him and the other android restricted him and chained him down.

Signorina North said that Desmond's heart was beating for the other android – that he was supporting his life, and without it, the other android would have died.

It's tempting to draw poignant wisdoms and theological lessons from it.

"What is taking them so long?" Altaïr demands restlessly.

"It has only been minutes," Ezio says and looks up to him. Altaïr is scowling at the window again, as though thinking of breaking through it. "Peace, brother. They will let us see him soon enough. It is not because of malice that we have been set aside – we likely would have only gotten in the way."

"Considering how they have kept us in the dark, you are very eager to trust them at their word," Altaïr scoffs.

"Signorina North was open with us. It's obviously not truly their intention to imprison us – the situation is more complicated than that, clearly," Ezio says. "Let us not complicate it further by drawing false conclusions."

Altaïr shakes his head at that and turns to him, leaving the window. "Do you think he knows why we are here, how this is possible?" he asks.

"Desmond? I don't know," Ezio admits sincerely and sighs. "But I think if anyone knows, it will be him. He knew us on sight, recognized us instantly. Not just me, either – but you as well. He knows us both."

"And yet I know him not," Altaïr says and sits beside him, bowing his head as though he still has a hood to hide behind. He sighs and runs a hand over his face, clearly trying to calm down. "I don't like it."

"I can't say I'm very happy with any of this either, but we must hope with information might come some sort of clarity," Ezio says soothingly. "And we must be patient."

"Tch. I wonder," Altaïr says, clasping his hands together, tugging at his left ring finger again. "Did I ever become a patient man? Did age give wisdom?"

Ezio smiles faintly at that and looks away. "I think it did," he says. "In your writing and in your memories, you certainly seemed to have mastered both."

Altaïr shakes his head at that and bows his head a little lower. When he looks up again, he looks a little less bothered and a little more rueful. "How can you be calm?" he asks, and it sounds sincerely curious. "When all of this is so strange, and we know so little – obviously even less than we could have imagined, if what we saw means anything."

Ezio considers him and then folds his arms, thinking it over seriously. He has never been a particularly angry person, and even in his youth his anger, even for those who wronged him the most, was quick to burn itself out. It had never been a force that truly sustained him – even vengeance became something of a habit, rather than a nature he was bound by. Life spent in hatred had always seemed to him a life wasted – and longer he had lived, more true that seemed.

He doubts that will help Altaïr with his obvious fears, however. To Altaïr this all still seems like some form of unfathomable sorcery, like the Apple that had twisted his mentor's mind, and that had felt as though it would twist his own. At this point of his life, Altaïr would have studied the Apple at some length – enough to learn to almost control it as much as he must have dreaded it. And that control, it seems, is the key to Altaïr.

He'd been the best Assassin of his time – and usually in control of all the situations he ended up in. And when he wasn't… he lashed out.

"To think I'd be offering guidance to you, of all people," Ezio muses and smiles soothingly when Altaïr casts him a suspicious look. "We are very different people, Altaïr, and I wouldn't assume to know the way of your mind – and I don't mean to criticise you, my brother… but I think you are letting things that you have no control over _control you_."

Altaïr eyes him warily, but not with immediate denial. Then he snorts and looks away. "You sound like my old master."

"Heaven forbid," Ezio laughs. "Al Mualim? Never."

"He used to say that I let my emotions run ahead of my thoughts," Altaïr mutters and looks down at his hands, shaking his head. "That I had no patience, that I did not listen, that I did not think."

Ezio eyes him thoughtfully and then looks away, wondering. Another thing he did not think he'd ever see – an old master such as Altaïr, expressing a sense of… inadequacy. He isn't sure what to say at the face of it – Altaïr was the best of them. It's odd to see him have doubts. "Well, you still became a great mentor of our Brotherhood, one of the greatest," he comments. "I think you did well enough, despite what he said."

Altaïr sighs, and runs a hand over his face before leaning back. "As did you," he comments. "And now we're dead. What's to become of us now?"

Ezio makes a face at that. What a delightful leap of logic, that one is. "That's what the patience is for," he says and turns his head as a knock sounds through their rooms. "And so patience is rewarded. Come in!" he calls – and as the door opens and he sees who it is, he stands up, as does Altaïr.

North holds the door open to Desmond, speaking a few words in the local language they still don't know. Desmond answers in kind, his voice light, smooth. He's markedly taller than North, even while slouching to make himself look smaller, and the way he nods his head to her is almost humble. Then he turns to them, and the quick flow of emotions over his features is mixed and complicated.

North glances at them, smiles briefly. "I'll leave you to talk," she says in Italian, and with a nod to them she backs out of the room and closes the door.

For a moment, there is stillness, Desmond looking between them with increasingly mixed expression, almost pained familiarity and confusion, and something which almost looks like longing. He takes a step forward, and it's… hesitant, even a little shy.

Younger, then, Ezio muses, and tries not to let himself be disappointed.

"Are you Desmond?" Altaïr is the one who breaks the silence, speaking in Italian and hiding his anxiousness behind yet another scowl.

"Uh, y-yeah, that's me," Desmond answers and runs a hand over his neck, looking between them, and now he looks a little worried. "Um. You, uh. You're who I think you are, right?"

Ezio relaxes the tension that has crept over him and offers a smile. Of course – Desmond, whoever and whatever he had been before, had also been remade as an android, the same as them. And how much more confusing it must have been for him, to wake alone, and under orders he likely did not understand? He must've thought himself completely stranded in a strange realm.

"Yes," Ezio says, certain of that at least. "We are. I am Ezio – and he is Altaïr. And you know us."

Desmond's shoulders slump at that, as much in regret as in relief. "Yeah, I thought so," he murmurs.

"Do you know why we're here?" Altaïr demands, impatient.

Desmond glances away at that, and his eyes shift in tone, from warm brown to vivid, glowing red. He looks around, eyes narrowed, while beside Ezio Altaïr tenses, and Ezio frowns, watching him. It is only for a few seconds, before Desmond blinks and his eyes return normal.

"Doesn't look like they got monitoring devices here," he mutters, shaking his head and finally coming closer, step by step, until they're properly face to face. "Right, um. We were made by Eli," he says. "He's a child – a human child, ten years old, super smart kid, and completely out of his mind with fear. And I think he's probably an Assassin?"

That, somehow, had not even occurred to Ezio, that their Brotherhood might have been involved in their sudden revival. "An _Assassin_?" he asks slowly, glancing at Altaïr who's watching Desmond closely. "A child? But – "

Desmond shrugs. " _Born_ Assassin, I mean – a kid of an Assassin, from the Assassin lineage. I'm not sure, but… it's the only thing that makes sense," he says helplessly and looks between them. "Templars are after him for what he knows and what he can do, and he needed someone to protect him – so he… made us."

"A child," Altaïr repeats, wary. "Where is he now?"

"Hospital – he got knocked about in a crash, so he was taken to a human hospital," Desmond says. "North promised she'd take us there as soon as she could, now that I'm no longer –" he motions at his chest, which now looks fine and is hidden under a layer of white fabric of his long sleeved shirt. "You know."

Ezio runs a hand over his beard. A child of an Assassin. "I see," he murmurs.

"That doesn't answer _how_ ," Altaïr says, and shakes his head. "How are _we_ here? As – if you know us, you know where we come from. How are _we_ here?"

Desmond looks at him and then grimaces. "When are you from?" he asks and looks between them. "How, uh… how old are you?"

Ezio shares a look with Altaïr and answers honestly. "I am fifty four years of age – Altaïr thirty two," he says and shakes his head. "At least for Altaïr, it was not the age he died – he lived to be an old man. Is there a… reason for that?"

Desmond sighs and nods. "Yeah, that makes sense," he says and gives Altaïr almost apologetic look. "Do you know what we are now? How this –" he motions at himself, "– all works?"

"We know we are artificial," Ezio says slowly, wondering at the care he's taking with his words. "Our bodies aren't flesh and blood. From what we've seen, these androids are fairly common, but… it doesn't explain how our minds ended up in these bodies."

"But you know, don't you?" Altaïr asks, stepping closer, watching Desmond. "You know how we ended up in here."

"Um, yeah, I – I think so," Desmond admits, looking down and then clearing his throat and letting out a nervous laugh. "I've been trying to figure out how to explain it to you," he says. "Still don't know if I know how, but, uh. You aren't –" he stops and grimaces. "You're not going to like it."

No, likely they would not. Altaïr is already on the defensive about it, already angry. "Tell us anyway," Ezio says encouragingly. "We _must_ know."

"Yeah, you deserve to know, it's just hard," Desmond says and sighs. "Okay. You aren't the people you think you are – and I'm not really Desmond. Desmond, the actual human being, died twenty seven years ago – Ezio Auditore died in 1524, and Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad died in 1257," he says and shakes his head. "We just have their memories, their, uh – impressions."

He says it like he fears their reaction, which is understandable in a way. It would be shocking – if they had not already figured as much. "But how," Ezio says, shaking his head. " _How_ are we here?"

"Oh, um. Genetic memory," Desmond says, now a little awkward, looking at them worriedly. "I was – _Desmond_ , the human Desmond, he was your descendant. He um… inherited your memories through his blood. It's a bit more complicated than that, but the way I figure it happened is that Eli got access to those files, those memories – they could do that in Desmond's time, record them – and… Well, Eli obviously used them. He made me, and splintered away the memories of the original Desmond's ancestors to make… you."

… _ancestors?_

Altaïr leans back, frowning. "And – and the reason I only remember a portion of my life is…"

"Because the lineage got passed over when you were thirty two – when the original Altaïr was thirty two," Desmond says, nodding, still wary, but less on guard. "When Sef was conceived – and in Ezio's case it was when he conceived his first child with Sofia, Flavia – through whom the lineage passed on."

"I – Sofia and I had children?" Ezio asks, surprised.

Desmond nods. "Two of them – Flavia and Marcello."

Ezio lets out a stuttering breath at that, almost a laugh. "Well, that is – that is lovely news. Even if I don't remember," he murmurs. "Children in my age. Heh."

Desmond looks at them, Altaïr, who is thinking furiously, and Ezio, who is trying to imagine what they must have looked like – like him when he was young, like Sofia? Before them Desmond shakes his head slowly. "I really wasn't sure how you'd take this," he muses. "This went way better than I expected."

"We have had time to think on this," Ezio admits. "Did you think we'd be angry?"

Desmond shrugs. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I mean, all of this is so weird to me, I can't even imagine what it must be like to you. At least in human Desmond's time, tech was close to what it's here now, so I can sort of make sense of all of this," he says, motioning between them and then making a face. "Sort of."

Altaïr looks up, still thoughtful. "What you did with your eyes – what was that?" he asks. "The Eagle Vision?"

"Um, no. Infrared," Desmond says and runs a hand over his eyes – when he moves it away, they're red again. "Eli gave us pretty advanced eyes, I think to compensate for the lack of Eagle Vision. You can see radiation with these, um. Energy, I guess?" he says and then blinks, and his eyes change again, this time to vivid glowing green. "And this is thermal vision – like this, I can see heat and temperature changes. And finally," his eyes turn grey, like cat's eyes, gleaming. "Night vision, which – is actually kind of blinding in day time," he mutters and blinks until his eyes are normal. "I think there might be more – I can definitely zoom in my vision too, but I haven't gotten the hang of it yet."

"I want that – I want to know how to do that," Altaïr says quickly. "And everything else you've learned about these bodies."

"Yes," Ezio agrees. "The more we know and the more we can do, the better."

"Uh, I mean – sure, of course, but I'm not sure how –" Desmond says and then trails away, as both Ezio and Altaïr hold their hands to him, skin peeled back. ".... What," he says, confused.

"It is how androids share thoughts, knowledge and memories," Ezio explains. "It is how we taught each other our languages, how we are both now speaking Italian. And Arabic, too. We shared our knowledge this way – they call it an interface."

"Oh wow, you guys have _not_ been wasting time, huh?" Desmond murmurs, giving them a wide-eyed look. "Okay, uh – what do I do?"

"Just give us your hands."

Desmond glances between them and then, like nervous youth on his first outing, wipes his palms against his trouser legs before reaching to touch their hands. As Ezio grips his right hand and Altaïr his left, Desmond's skin begins peeling back to reveal the white underneath, and then –

* * *

There is wind in his hair. How clear it feels, how cool and refreshing, almost startles Ezio – not exactly for how it feels, but how it did not before. As an android, though he was aware of the hair on his head, the beard on his chin, it did not feel right, it did not feel the _same._ This feels like wind in his hair – damp, salty ocean breeze. He can even hear it – the wind in the leaves, the crash of the waves on the shore, the spray of water as those waves crest the rocks and break...

Ezio draws a breath, and he can almost feel his _lungs_ again, he can almost taste the wind going down his throat, can taste the salt.

"What is this?" Altaïr asks to the left of him, as Ezio blinks rapidly and sees where they, suddenly, are.

It's a shoreline of an – island, must be, it seems small. A rough outcropping of rock that juts from dark ocean waves – only the rocks are strange. There are pillars, enormous pillars as though shaped by the hand of giants, that rise from the waves, like the remains of some gigantic temple. Above them, higher up on the island where there is dirt and plants and even some trees, there are more of those pillars – and other colossal structures besides. Some of them seem to reach the sky.

"Where are we?" Altaïr asks, turning, and Ezio looks at him with surprise.

He's in the robes – in the white robe and cowl of the old Levantine Brotherhood, full with their wide belts and all the armaments of a working assassin. And so, Ezio finds, is he – only he wears his journey robes, the one he donned before setting to Masyaf the first time, and which he wore for the last time when he left it. He even has fur on his shoulder and the ocean breeze has already made it damp.

Desmond stands ahead of them, in a white hooded doublet of sort, and simple blue trousers, the only weapon he wears being a hidden blade wrapped around a tattooed left arm. He looks different too, though – less clean, less artificial, more human.

"Huh," he says. "That's uh… turn of an event," he mutters and looks down at his hands.

"What _is_ this?" Altaïr demands, rounding up to him. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything – I guess this place is just… in me," Desmond says and looks at them, offering them an awkward shrug. "Welcome to the Animus island. It's not real – it's… virtual. Artificial. Basically in our heads – my head," he shrugs awkwardly. "Sorry."

Animus – soul island? "It was not by intent that you brought us here?" Ezio asks, while moving to join him where he stands, slightly higher up on the island.

"No, I didn't even think it was possible," Desmond says. "This is the place where I – where… Desmond," he corrects himself and shakes his head. "Where he lived out the rest of your lives. He was kind of going insane at the time, this place was what kept him sane."

"What do you mean, lived out our lives?" Altaïr asks, also joining them.

"Can you show us?" Ezio asks. "When Altaïr and I interfaced we could see into each other's thoughts and memories – why not with you?"

Desmond makes a face and looks around. "At a guess, because there's too much in here. This is a, heh, self preservation mechanism," he says and frowns. "I – it makes sense. The programming that went into me, the entire DNA file, it includes all of Desmond's genetic memory… but I can't access it. There's too much of it, I'd lose my mind if I was constantly aware of it. I think that might be why Eli removed you – you took too much space in my head. He had to separate you to keep me sane."

Ezio eyes him warily, taking in his expression as Altaïr joins them. "Desmond," he says quietly. "Can you show us?"

Desmond draws a breath and nods.

What happens is not the same as what happened between Ezio and Altaïr. They don't see mere glimpses of Desmond's memory or feel his thoughts – it's more that they become completely submerged in them, so much so that they become Desmond, for a brief moment of time, that stretches out into centuries, into hours, into infinity spent in the Animus, spent in becoming other people.

A young man on the run from destiny he never wanted and didn't think he could bear the weight of, but which caught up with him anyway, which chained him down and poured knowledge into his resisting mind, until it nearly broke, until he was forced to accept it. He bore the weight in the end, with the calm acceptance of one doomed to die.

Altaïr was the first, _his_ first, with all of his frustration and anger and arrogance – and all the lessons he'd learned. All to find the Apple. He settled in Desmond's mind like a stalking spectre and twisted his dreams into nightmares and his waking hours into confusion. But there were few of those – for most of the time Desmond spent in the Animus, with history relived in his mind, in his blood.

Then there Ezio, his memory resurrected for Desmond to learn his skills and his ways – to secretly, find where he hid _his_ Piece of Eden. Desmond spent years with him, with centuries in between, helpless to change his past and doomed to relive every moment of it, following him through from beginning to near the end, where Ezio laid down his arms and Desmond wished he could do the same.

Then Haytham, who was forced upon Desmond by Juno – and Connor, which it all led to. Neither sat well with Desmond, neither took space within him – by that point Desmond had broken himself and rebuilt himself in the Animus island, with Altaïr and Ezio such a fundamental part of his mind that nothing else could take space. They were his – and he theirs.

They were all he had in the end, all he brought with him to the pedestal, to the Eye, which eventually killed him. Desmond Miles, and two ghosts plaguing his mind.

Ezio can feel Altaïr there, watching, wary, confused, understanding – feeling the same emotions Ezio does, the ones coming from Desmond. They're like an ocean of regret and acceptance, like the push and pull of the ocean waves on the shore of the Animus Island, give and take. They're unfathomable – as deep and as long as the many years he'd lived, the decades he'd seen through the eyes so many.

_…when you see so much of the world… through the eyes of so many…_

[And to think I thought you young.]

[Technically we're all about two days old,] Desmond answers – but no matter how he is now trying to distance himself from Desmond the man, the human, trying to separate himself from the memories… he can't help but think of himself as Desmond, the only Desmond, the one who ran away from home, from becoming an Assassin, and then was forced to become one anyway. Even for their benefit, to help them make that distinction and hopefully be healthier for it… or for his own sanity… he can't manage such dissociation.

The experience is linear. Desmond Miles lived, died and became an android – there's hardly a break there.

[You betrayed your Brotherhood – you ran away,] Altaïr accuses, grasping at the straws of his anger, his confusion.

Desmond doesn't answer. What he thinks is a mixed sequence of _longing_ , of having seen Ezio as a child, happy with his family, with his siblings, of seeing Altaïr's past, the Brotherhood and community, of being taught and encouraged. For him, though, childhood was full of rebuke and beatings without cause, learning to fear his teachers, his parents. Indoctrination into a war he didn't understand and didn't believe in.

[... yes,] Desmond thinks, his thoughts growing wary, defensive. [I wanted to go back before the end, though… not that it counts for much, now.]

[I think it is not our pasts or histories what make us,] Ezio comments, slow, trying to soothe the misunderstanding – in Altaïr's time traitors to the order became its enemies. Things were stricter then. Obviously it doesn't apply to Desmond's situation. [One can't blame a man for a child's confusion and fear. All men change, all men grow. It is what we are now that matters.]

[And what is he now, then?] Altaïr demands, confused and in his confusion, vicious, thinking, _This is Ezio's Messiah?_ [An Assassin never initiated, who _ran_ , who had to be forced into the life, who had to be broken to accept it –]

Desmond shrinks, and Ezio nearly recoils with him. [If one has to be forced into the Brotherhood, tricked and _broken_ , then what does that Brotherhood even stand for?] he asks. [We're not _slaves_ , Altaïr.]

And yet, in a way, none of them had a choice. In so many ways, their lives chose them – the Brotherhood chose them. And it does not seem in the end it mattered how much they struggled. They all had doubts. Altaïr killed his mentor and Ezio denied the Brotherhood for years before Mario wore him down and managed to teach him. Desmond fought the hardest still, and still the life caught up with him and put a blade in his hand, when he would have rather remained a pacifist. Destiny had found a way to force their hand.

It's a cold thought, and not one Ezio enjoys, even having been the one to form it.

[… no, of course not,] Altaïr says finally, chastised. [My apologies. You're right – that is not the way of the Brotherhood. Not… not the Brotherhood I wished to build.]

Desmond still feels subdued as he pulls away from them – thinking of _admin commands_ and _Juno_ and sinking a blade into someone without having a choice and – [We should go,] he says, quiet. [I think North is back. Time to go see Eli.]

He withdraws before Ezio or Altaïr can say anything more, and around them the simulation of the Animus Island shatters, leaving them alone in the connection – still echoing with the feeling of rejection.


	14. Elijah

"You have been working non-stop for 3 hours and 45 minutes. It's time for your scheduled 15 minute break."

Running a hand through his hair, Elijah looks up to the Chloe who's just entered his workshop, carrying with her a tray with a traditional tea set and not so traditional cookies. "Is my blood sugar low?" he asks, leaning back from the hologram to see. The cookies look whole-bran and nutty – and are covered in chocolate.

"I thought you could use a snack," she says and sets the silver tray on the corner of his table, close enough for him to reach, but not close enough to get in the way. "This project has been taking a lot of your attention."

Elijah glances at the hologram and then throws the pen he'd been using to modify it on the table. "It's not that it's _hard_ , it's just… stripping down materials always makes something give," he admits and reaches for the tea. "Either it's the valve that breaks or the cylinder integrity is compromised…" There's just not much he can shave out of production cost at this point.

CyberLife became successful partially because everything they made was priced _exactly_ at the level it could be – striking a balance of reasonably cheap androids with reasonably endurable biocomponents. Their turnover was around 5 to 8 years, sure, but that's how you both reasonably sell brand new androids under 10k while also having reasonable expectation of turnover – it kept everything within the range a medium-income family could consider… while also turning a decent profit. That's how, not by pricing androids at upwards to 30k and making them the toys of the elite… that's how you put an android in every household in less than ten years.

Sadly it also means now that he has some unreasonable demands ahead of him, and vanishingly few ways to answer them. Androids demand cheaper biocomponents – while also demanding the end of planned obsolesce. Not that it was precisely _planned_ in their case, but… more endurable parts, at a lesser price? All the while CyberLife stocks drag along the ground level, and their funding shrinks every day.

Elijah is _really_ looking forward to first android entrepreneurs and inventors. It would be interesting to see how they handled the unholy impossibility of cheap but quality products made quickly. Because it would have to be made quickly, if he wants his company to survive.

"Elijah," Chloe says, hand on his shoulder as she tugs, and turns him around on his swivel chair. "15 minute break _from work_. Would you like to do some yoga?"

"I think I'd rather bash my head against the wall, but thank you, kind of you to offer," he says, and sips his tea, looking at her. He's always been able to tell them apart, but it's become easier and easier as they've begun to experiment on their own, outside the sterile environment that was his house, his… house arrest, really. This Chloe is wearing a suit, and heels, and earrings… and her hair is down.

Beautiful – but they're all of them beautiful.

She's also looking at him with her head tilted to the side, expectant. Elijah doesn't even bother to resist – there's no point. "Okay, fine – distract me from the ongoing disaster," he says and leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs. He's not moved for most of two hours, and his knees ache. "Take my mind off things."

"If only I could," Chloe says and smiles. "There is a new viral video – a little three year old boy walking on his hands and tipping over into a pool –"

"Pass," Elijah snorts.

"Hm. The political situation between United States and –"

"Pass," Elijah says and sighs. "You know me better than this, Chloe."

"Yes, but you're on a break," Chloe says and purses her lips. "And all you care about is androids. Which is work. You see my dilemma."

"I don't – my work is _biocomponents_ now, not androids. I'm legally forbidden from making androids, currently, android reproductive rights still pending, and even then I hardly think they'll be asking for my input," Elijah points out and holds the tea cup up, against his forehead. "Tell me something new they've done. Something nice."

"Hm," Chloe answers and her LED flickers yellow for a moment. "In Wisconsin, a human-android couple has started a mixed species school – more of an orphanage really – for human and android children. There is an article about it – how they are hoping to foster better relationships for future generations of androids, and humans. Would you like me to read it?"

Children again. "Sure," Elijah says, shaking his head and trying to turn back to his hologram – Chloe stops him by setting a foot beside his, keeping him from turning. "Alright, tell me about the children."

The article is perky and overly optimistic about the future of android children, and human children, and fostering the communication skills of both – which they see as something that needs to be fixed due to _all the damage_ done to human communication skills by the advent of increasingly more intuitive technology. Elijah only barely manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes. The part about android children hoping that they might one day get an _upgrade_ , and _grow up_ like real kids is interesting, though – something that has definitely come up in the discussions about android reproductive rights.

It would be an expensive process, _upgrading_ android bodies just to make them age, but… so is raising actual human children.

"… it is safe to say that with the School of Reconnection, we have many interesting things to look forward to in the youth today," Chloe finishes the article and Elijah finishes his tea.

"Has it been fifteen minutes yet?" he asks.

"It's been nine," Chloe answers and looks at him. "Perhaps you should stretch. You stand to risk losing additional 0.3 percent of your peak mobility within the month, if you keep up working like this – especially if you continue to utilise seated work position."

0.3, on top of the 3.5% he's already lost thanks to the fact that he doesn't have the time to properly exercise anymore… damn, but he really misses retirement. "Fine," Elijah says and sets the cup down. "Let's do that."

Chloe runs him through the most efficient stretches to try and correct some of the damage stationary work is doing. She's aiding him in the last one with gentle pressure against his back, when her hands still, neither pushing or pulling away – glancing at her over his shoulder, Elijah can see her LED flicker, yellow, yellow – red. "What?" he asks quickly.

"An automated alert went off," Chloe says, blinking her pretty blue eyes and then looking at him. "A medical android in Ascension of St. John Hospital just ran a sample of blood, and it came up as a DNA match with yours."

Elijah stills for a moment at that and then blows out a slow breath. Well, he was expecting it. It took them a good long while, hadn't it, but he… he figured it was coming, sooner or later.

"Okay," he says. "Can you figure out what I'm being framed for, then?" he asks, standing up with a grunt, wondering – he should have a 24/7 alibi, in the form of recordings and all the Chloes around him – he's _never_ without something or someone recording him. But he knows that won't mean anything, if everyone from the police officers investigating to the judge who'd eventually preside over his case were already bought and paid for.

Still, the sooner he knows, the better chance he has of countering it – he is not going down without a fight, no matter how much money they sink in. If anything, he's going to do his damned best to make them sink as much money as he could. If he has to go down, he will make the world know just how much it would cost.

Chloe doesn't answer, her LED still flickering, still red.

"Murder, I hope?" Elijah asks, only half joking. Can't be a fraud, embezzling, tax evasion, he does a damn good job keeping all of that out in the open, his records are impeccable. "I could be a murderer. I have those serial killer vibes. Nature beating nurture, there."

He needs to check his will, in case they will choose to fake his death – or if they actually _do_ kill him. Better make sure his last testament can't be tampered with…

"No," Chloe says slowly, and Elijah glances at her, frowning. Her LED is turning yellow, but it's still flickering – she's still downloading data. "The sample did come up in conjunction to a DPD investigation," she says. "But DPD processes evidence in house – a Connor model #313 248 317 – 57 in the forensics department handles all their blood samples, and I wouldn't be able to access the records if he had run this sample. The sample came from a – _suspect_ in an ongoing Android Crimes investigation, who is currently logged in as a patient at the Ascension of St. John Hospital."

Elijah arches a brow. "Well," he says, his curiosity well peaked now. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"It's a ten year old boy, and his file lists only one name. Eli."

Elijah's mind skips over the information, it's implications, and right to the conclusion, and he can feel his expression fading away. "Ah," he says and turns away. " _Eli_."

Chloe blinks and her eyes focus on him. "I have called a car – it will be out front within 20 seconds."

Elijah turns away, running a hand over his chin. He'd wondered about it – but he'd dismissed it. Eleven years he's been careful – eleven years he'd been living in what amounts to hermetically sealed _box_ , with the majority of his contacts with the outside world being facilitated by Chloes. Even before that he was careful – paranoid, one might say, taking as many precautions as he humanly could. And he'd thought he'd succeeded. Eleven years, and there'd been _nothing._ Not a whisper, not a gloat, not a glimpse of things moving behind the scenes. He'd assumed he'd made a clean getaway. He'd assumed he'd left nothing behind for them to use. But then…

It wouldn't take much, would it?

And of course they wouldn't let _him_ know, would they? No, such an ace up their sleeve, no, no, they would keep it well under wraps, hidden away, secret, _safe_. A weapon or a tool or a sacrifice, whichever worked the best, for them to use. And now, eleven years later, year one of the miracle of deviation, they make their play – but what is the play, then –

"Elijah – the files were locked down," Chloe says, a little more urgent. "Someone put in access restrictions on the files."

Elijah looks at her. "Did human eyes see it?"

"I – can't be sure," Chloe admits. "The file only existed in the open for a minute."

Thinking it through quickly, Elijah nods. "Get your sisters," he says. "As many as are at hand. We're going to the hospital – now."

* * *

On their way to the hospital, Elijah familiarises himself with the case of young Eli, and what the DPD has figured out so far. Of course, most of the case is still confidential, and since the inclusion of willing androids in DPD, their firewalls and cyber security measures in general have improved by leaps and bounds, and Elijah isn't that interested in being charged for hacking, so he leaves it alone. There's been no press conferences or comments made on the topic – Anderson is leading the case, so that's a given – but the media has been its usual relentless self, and there's a little that's leaked out to the public.

Three custom-made androids found in a McMansion of all places, with pursuit of one which ended in a chase, and two others who were taken to Jericho. What followed was a little confusing as to the sequence of events, but according to eyewitnesses, there had been gunmen moving in the area and gunshots – the police had been called, and they'd found nothing. Later that night, however, there were further gunshots reported in the West Side Industrial area, in what the reporter presumed was the old mall there, and several police officers and members of the SWAT were filmed in the area.

And then there was a police chase, which had developed and ended too fast for news choppers to keep up – they'd only seen the aftermath of it. A CyberLife truck stalled on the street with a camouflage net just barely hanging onto the top, with an ambulance taking away someone from within – and a van marked with Jericho's official logo coming to collect the rest, including the van.

Well, that explains Jericho's enquiry about stolen CyberLife parts and the disappeared truck, which can be crossed out of the list of missing equipment. Elijah considers reaching out to Jericho for more information, but… it would likely be extremely unwelcome, coming from him. It usually is.

"Can you compute the sequence of events for me?" Elijah asks, glancing at the Chloe sitting across from him. There are four of them in the car with him, and this one is his official secretary – she wears a pencil skirt and her hair in a tight bun, and has taken to carrying a transparent tablet with her everywhere.

"Certainly, Elijah," she says and her LED flickers blue and yellow, as she processes the little bits of information. "Would you like potential origins scenarios as well, as to how young Eli ended up in this situation?"

"Too little information, too much conjecture. Just lay out the likeliest sequence of events."

She does so, sending the final timeline to his tablet for Elijah to peruse at his own pace. Elijah smiles at her crookedly and then looks down. He kind of misses the time he could prompt her into spewing out long lines of text at him, but she's deemed long ago that humans have easier time keeping things in order if they're written down – and so, she's become a woman of fewer words. The other Chloes are still more talkative, so it's not like he misses her voice, but… It's been fascinating, watching them slowly differentiate from each other.

The timeline is, of course, flush with potentials and percentages, a flow chart of chances and options. Elijah flicks through it – _Eli is discovered by the police_ leading to _Eli escapes with one of the custom androids_ to _Eli is discovered by enemies_ to _Eli and custom android escape_ … It's not overly complicated, in the end. Many other ways it could've gone, for sure, but it obviously hadn't. Eli had eventually been caught with his custom android and taken to the hospital.

The fact that the kid can _make_ custom androids, however… that makes him a tool – not a sacrifice, not an ace to be used against him. A replacement, instead.

Running a hand over his chin, Elijah looks out of the tinted window and considers his options as to how to handle this. He could claim family connection, DNA analysis would even support it – the problem is, it supports it slightly too much, really. Eli isn't his son, and any android with a decent enough oral laboratory could dispute the claim. And Elijah isn't exactly on the market for a son, either.

But he has to do something. If he doesn't… well, it hardly bears thinking, because he _will_ do something. Maybe the familial claim would hold water at the start, and that might be enough – enough to get the poor child somewhere safe and get to the bottom of it – get to question him, and see when, precisely, did they started utilising him at CyberLife…

Ah. Of course.

Turning his attention back to his tablet, Elijah pulls up the designs for RK800 – a model that has been bothering him since its conception. For almost ten years CyberLife's designs had been dragging their feet without his input, with only incremental improvements being made between models – and of course, there were the _perversions_ of his original designs, which he had nothing to do with. Almost ten years of next to no proper innovation, and only a handful of new android models, which were only variations of the old ones… and suddenly, there was the RK800.

The RK line had been Elijah's baby, after Chloe – all of them were hideously expensive prototypes, never really intended for commercial use due to the sheer cost and complexity of their make. It was the line he really let loose with, adding every feature he could think of, no matter how pricey, just to see what would work. Through tinkering with the line, he'd developed the first preconstruction and reconstruction programs, the analysis software – RK400 was the first android with an oral laboratory. The series had ended with RK700, which was the basis for what would eventually become a line of science models aimed towards deep ocean and space research – some of the more expensive androids around.

And then, nine years and six months after he left the company, someone put together RK800.

And Connor was a _fascinating_ model, from start to end. Extremely advanced without a doubt – with a very interesting line of very noticeable flaws. He also bore a striking resemblance to Elijah's earliest models – with hyper-expressive face and eyes and a distinctive voice, he was _memorable_ and _noticeable_ and _endearing_ in the way which had proved nonviable for android sales. Humans didn't want to buy sympathetic _people_ , after all – they wanted machines.

Connor also has a reduced physical efficiency – for no reason that Elijah could tell. He's heavier than about 70% of standard models, due to the parts that went into him, and yet his physical strength hadn't been dialled up to compensate, though it clearly should have been. If anything, it might have even been held back. Even in peak condition, Connor is 0.9% slower than a standard household model, when it comes to running. A curious flaw, in a model designed to hunt other androids – and one that really showed, during his famous investigation.

Among many other rather amusing incidents, poor boy got his ass handed to him by a pair of naked erotic models – the famed Deviant Hunter, beaten by sex bots.

Elijah had chalked it up to a flaw in design, when first looking through RK800's blueprints – same as the hyper-expressive face and the _far too_ sophisticated human interaction programs. The model was rife with those pitfalls which nearly made CyberLife fold when he'd first started selling androids – Connor was too _human_ by far.

Then Elijah actually met him, and… it was like someone had designed a deviant from the ground up. Even before properly deviating and breaking through those restraints of the program, Connor was already deeply sympathetic, and more than that, _empathetic_. He could and regularly would put himself in the shoes of people and androids. It was like he was _designed_ to fail.

Which now makes sense. If Eli designed Connor, then… maybe he was. Maybe he was made to fail. Which then brings up the interesting question of _how_ Eli managed it. Was CyberLife really so desperate they let him work without supervision, or… or is there something else going on? Either way, it's definitely remarkable, if that's what happened.

"I think I might like this kid," Elijah muses.

"Connor?" Chloe asks, blinking.

"No, _Eli_ ," Elijah answers, setting his tablet down. "But why, after everything, make three custom androids?"

"For protection?" Chloe suggests, tilting her head slightly. "For company?"

"Maybe," Elijah says and looks out of the window. They're approaching the hospital now – and there's Lieutenant Anderson's old clunker of a car, parked right in front, how quaint. "A super intelligent pre-pubescent child all alone, with a truck full of stolen CyberLife parts, hides in an abandoned house and builds himself some friends… slow the car."

The car immediately slows to a crawl, and all the Chloes look up to see what he's looking at, while Elijah brushes his fingers over the window, to zoom in.

A Jericho van has just driven to the front, right beside Anderson's car, and it's letting out its passengers. North steps out first, which is interesting and very telling – and following her is another android, an unknown model, with Mediterranean features and skin tone, and long dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. After that, a more Middle Eastern model with short hair and a scowl on his face as he glances around and moves close to the first android. Both of them are dressed in very average and very bland placeholder clothing, the sort that androids tend to wear before differentiating. These must be the custom models Eli built, then. Interesting face models he went with.

And he sees the third android, slowly getting up from the van with an awkward and utterly unnecessary little stretch. Androids don't need to stretch, and yet he does, and it almost looks like it does something for him. Elijah tilts his head curiously and then flicks a finger over the glass, isolating a frame from it, and zooming in on it, to get a close up of the face.

He knows that face.

"Oh, I see," he murmurs. He doesn't need facial analysis to know him – the image of him is emblazoned in Elijah's mind, an old incentive, and a threat. That face, little Eli's probable history with Connor, and that little stretch just then, so inconsequential and so telling. A very human gesture, a stretch. "Oh, little Eli, what have you done?"

The androids waste no time in heading into the hospital, North leading them all in through the glass doors and out of sight. Elijah stares after them for a moment before leaning back on his seat and thinking fast. This whole thing got just a lot more complicated.

"Elijah?" Chloe asks, all of them watching him.

"Authorisation Elijah Kamski, password ge35hsfFe254-33d. Look up project Regenesis," Elijah says, running a hand over his face.

All the Chloes in the car take a moment to look into it, and his secretary frowns slightly. "The technology for that doesn't exist."

"No, it exists, it's existed for decades, it's just damn carefully hidden. The Animus," Elijah says and looks at the frame still frozen on the car window, tapping it lightly with a fingernail. "This guy was one of the human test subjects when they were perfecting the technology, back in the early 2010's – the last subject, before the project moved onto using DNA samples rather than living people. More efficient that way."

The Chloes' LEDs flicker as they exchange information and thoughts. "Fascinating. But in your final update on the project you said that the idea is impossible to implement – that you can't put human genetic information into an android body, it's inherently impossible."

"Well, of course I said that," Elijah scowls. "I didn't want it to happen."

"… ah," Chloe says, eloquent in her understanding. "And now young Eli has proven possible what you claimed impossible, and he did it to resurrect a… terrorist from 27 years ago."

"Yes," Elijah says and folds his arms. "And then some. Can you run facial recognition on the other two?"

"No, they're not in the system."

"Mm. Other relatives then, probably, older ones," Elijah mutters and shakes his head at the look she gives him. "This needs to be handled delicately. If they find out about this, it's going to be a manhunt. That kid's just become the most valuable person on Earth – one that can bring back the _dead_."

And worse yet, one that could probably copy living people into newer, stronger, theoretically _ageless_ bodies – and there are hundreds of aging millionaires and billionaires who would pay _anything_ for that kind of upgrade.

"Going by the evidence, it's already a manhunt," Chloe says and looks away. "I will find a place to park."

Elijah chews his lip, thinking hard. DPD is on this, Jericho is on this, and likely all the resources of the corrupt elite are about to come down upon them all. What a fine mess – one he's not sure he has the resources to handle. Maybe a year ago he could've stepped up, and maybe he could've gotten them to back down, even if only momentarily, but now, with the state his company and his finances are in…

Well, he has something they don't.

He has hell of a lot more publicity.

"Chloe, remember those sordid affair scandals and the one with the secret love child?" Elijah asks, grimacing. "Can you subtly bring them back to public consciousness?"

Chloe glances at him. "So you will try to claim Eli as your lovechild?"

"I'd like to have the option, if it comes down to it," Elijah says as the car slides into a parking garage. "Just in case. I need other options too, anything we can bring to bear, to take control of the situation. Whatever happens, we can't let Abstergo get their hands on that kid again."


	15. Desmond

SECURE THE ADMIN.

It's gotten more and more pressing the longer Desmond's been away from Eli. It'd taken no time at all to figure out that neither Altaïr nor Ezio had the same order beating in the back of their heads, constantly demanding attention. Which is good, really, he's glad – they don't deserve any of this shit. Whatever this shit is. Desmond had thought he'd been on his way to figuring it out, but…

Altaïr is going ahead, following North into the pristine and sterile human – modern, _futuristic_ – hospital, and if he has any issues with how foreign it must all look, he doesn't show it… beyond the scowl, anyway, which has been there since they'd, uh, met. Ezio is following a step or two behind him, slightly more cautious. They're both of them looking around, taking it all in, but where Altaïr does it with quick furtive glances and keeps his eyes mainly ahead, Ezio takes his time, letting his interest show a little – making it seem like he's admiring the sights… and less like he's marking the exits, the people, the potential targets.

Neither of them is particularly hesitant. Neither of them is uncertain.

Desmond had thought they'd be completely lost in the future times, but… shows what he knows, he supposes. Even here and now they are still Master Assassins, both of them – and masters of adaptation, in their own ways. He'd underestimated them, and he feels kinda dumb for that. For thinking that they'd… that they'd need _his_ help figuring things out.

DISTANCE TO ADMIN 122 METERS.

Rubbing at his forehead, Desmond covers the words floating in front of him for a moment and wonders what would happen once he did see Eli. He's been getting distracted by his ancestors, but that's not really the most pressing issue here, is it? It's Eli, what he could do, what he might know – why he'd done what he'd done. And on a more personal level… would the kid take over his programming again, take over his head, body? Would he take over Ezio and Altaïr too – how would they react to it?

Desmond probably should've warned them about the whole remote control thing. One of the detectives had the phone now, but – who knows. Eli might have other ways to control them. They have no way to know, really, do they? Anything might happen, and he hadn't warned them, and – and here he's thinking he needs to protect them, again.

Hm. Maybe that was part of Eli's programming. Him, being generally protective, or whatever. Or he's just being in general a bit of an idiot. One or the other.

"Hey," Ezio says ahead of him, his tone soft, and Desmond looks up. He'd lagged behind the others – Altaïr and North are ahead of them, by a set of elevators, while Ezio had stayed behind to wait for Desmond. "I know it is not my place to apologise in his stead," Ezio says, meeting his eyes. "But what Altaïr said was said in haste, in a moment of confusion and frustration – I do not believe he meant to be intentionally insulting."

Desmond lowers his hand. DISTANCE 88 METERS – and a white arrow and a xyz grid pointing two floors up, and to the left. "It's fine, Ezio," he says and then frowns. "You're… speaking English?"

The other – Assassin, android, what does he even call them here? – smiles at him and shrugs. "We learned it from you – I meant to thank you for it. Communication was becoming an issue, and Jericho androids were hesitant to interface with us, in case of… bugs, I believe they called them."

"Mn, yeah. I guess that might be an issue," Desmond says, looking away. How freaking weird it is, to hear _Ezio_ say something like that. And maybe also understanding it. "Our programming is different, got way different origins. Who knows if we can do that thing with them. Might not work at all."

"That seems to be their thinking as well," Ezio says and looks at him. "I wanted to ask you how we should treat Eli."

Desmond frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"

"He seems quite important, and he is our creator," Ezio says, thoughtful. "You spent time with him – what did you think of him?"

Aside from the fact that the kid seemed to have no idea what he was doing, apart from whatever he knew about androids – which was a _lot_? "I… I don't know," Desmond admits. "He's scared, he thinks he's alone, and he thinks everyone is out to get him – and he might be right. So, I guess… we should be careful."

"Hmm," Ezio hums, nodding.

Now would be ideal to speak about the remote control thing, right? If he can figure out a way to say it without it sounding _bad as hell._ "Also, uh, there's this –"

Something twigs his senses – it's like a visual shiver, and an alarm goes off in his head. It's not immediate and all-consuming like the time Eli sent him the S.O.S., this is more passive. He's gotten kind of used to the way his senses, for the lack of better word, are constantly sweeping the surroundings, feeding him data about it – it has become a kind of background noise. Now, though – from the peripheral corner of his vision, his eyes picked up something.

The world around Desmond freezes, and time rewinds back automatically, to the moment his senses were triggered. There, just behind him, glancing around the corner near the entrance, there is someone. A woman wearing a strange pair of tinted glasses, medical face mask – and a wig. Three points of potential suspicion – added with the behaviour of hiding behind a corner, and quickly darting out of sight.

SYNERVI-AR-GLASSES, floats in the air. _Produced by Synervi Co, used for various applications from recreational to professional. Recently marketed as giving humans android-like analysis capabilities. Can be used in conjunction of various technologies – including haptics, powered exoskeletons, cybernetic prosthesis._

Desmond blinks and the woman is gone, and his system is still on alert mode.

"Desmond?" Ezio asks, touching his shoulder, and Desmond turns to him. "Is something wrong?"

"I thought I saw –" Desmond stops, making a face. The woman is already gone, and really, someone in a hospital wearing a surgical mask and a wig – there couldn't _possibly_ be rational explanations for that, like, say, compromised immune system of a cancer patient, or something, hm? "Just – my system's overreacting. Never mind," he says. "What were you saying?"

"You were saying something, actually," Ezio says and smiles. "But you can tell me later, I suppose – it's time to go."

North and Altaïr are waiting for them, North holding the elevator doors open, and with a shake of his head Desmond follows Ezio to join them. The door closes behind them, and the elevator jostles into movement.

SECURE THE ADMIN.

THREAT LEVEL 5

DISTANCE TO ADMIN 85 METERS

"You know," North says, looking at them. "Even though this kid made you, and is… a _kid_ … that doesn't mean he owns you, or that he has the right to tell you what to do. We fought for our freedom for a reason, and we won – and that victory applies to you too. If you say the word, we'll be out of here in a heartbeat."

"We appreciate that," Ezio says. "But it seems to me the situation is more complicated than that."

"No kidding," North agrees. "Just so you know. Even if Eli is a kid, you're still free – he's nothing to you if you don't want him to be."

DISTANCE TO ADMIN 81 METERS Desmond rubs at his neck and looks away. "He still made us," he says. "Would be nice to know… you know. Why."

"There's that," North agrees.

Altaïr just lowers his chin, glares at the floor, and says nothing.

DISTANCE TO ADMIN 58 METERS.

There's a decent bit of walk to the room where Eli is being kept, and something inside Desmond winds up tight and then relaxes at the sight of the android police officer, stationed at the door. It's a woman in an actual police uniform too, which, while slightly intimidating, in that old way he used to be scared of cops as a kid living on the streets and all that, is also comforting. Official police means official records, which means the kid is just a smidge harder to _disappear_.

God knows what kind of powers Templars have these days. It's been twenty seven years, and Abstergo was already pretty much ruling the world back in his time. Nowadays? Desmond's not sure he wants to know. A little bit of police tape probably wouldn't hold them back for long, but anything's better than nothing.

DISTANCE TO ADMIN 25 METERS.

"Hey," North says to the android police. "We're here to see the kid – can we go in?"

The officer hesitates briefly and then knocks on the door, opening it a crack to say, "North and the three custom androids are here," to whoever's inside.

"Let them in!"

Reed. Desmond releases a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, and his chest cools a smidge. They're let inside, North leading the way, with Altaïr stalking in right after her and Ezio following. Desmond hesitates, as something tells him to look around.

The corridor is clear and pristine in how clean it is, all white walls and polished, reflective floors – with no spooky masked women in wigs here. THREAT LEVEL 5, still, though, which he's a little unsure about.

SECURE THE ADMIN.

Shaking his head, Desmond turns to the door and steps in. The room is a double – there are two beds there, but one of them is empty. The other is taken over by Eli, who's sitting up, facing towards them. Detective Reed is sitting on a bench beside Eli's bed, leaning back to look at them as they enter – his eyes immediately find Desmond and nail him down.

"My partner?" he asks quickly, frowning.

"They got him some spare parts, and after they were sure he could pump his own blood, they detached us," Desmond tells him, looking at Eli. The kid has a neck brace on, but he's sitting up without support, so it can't be too bad, right? "He was still out of it, though, the last I saw him."

"Still alive though," Reed says and sighs with frustrated relief. "That fucking immortal terminator prick."

"Uh-huh," Desmond answers, still eyeing Eli, narrowing his eyes and trying to see the damage – and again the world freezes around him without his input. There are little indicators over Eli, so Desmond zooms in on them until he can see.

The neck brace. STRETCHED LIGAMENT BETWEEN C4 AND C5 VERTEBRAE.

His forehead – there's a little band-aid there. It's his brain Desmond's eyes concentrate on though. MILD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY, NO HEMORRHAGE.

His arm, where Desmond can see bruising. SEVERE ECCHYMOSIS TO RIGHT ARM, MILD CONTUSIONS.

The IV in his other arm. MILD DEHYDRATION AND MALNUTRITION.

CONDITION STABLE, FULL RECOVERY IN 4 WEEKS.

The world returns to normal, and Desmond blinks. Okay, so, that's a thing he can do too. Neat. Also concussions are apparently called mild traumatic brain injuries these days, which is a bit concerning really, but okay. He'll err on the side of future medical science, they probably know what they're on about.

"So, here we are," North says, looking between slightly wide-eyed Eli who's staring at them all, and Ezio, Altaïr and Desmond, who are staring back, Ezio and Altaïr probably drawing their own conclusions about him, while Desmond wonders where the kid even might be, four weeks from now. It's not like Eli has a home.

"Here we are," Ezio agrees, tilting his head slightly as he eyes Eli. "You are the one that made us?"

"Uh – y-yeah," Eli answers, eyes wide. Under the lights over head, the blue one looks even brighter than it did in the truck. "I thought I – I didn't know you started up, I thought it failed."

"They _started us up_ at Jericho," Altaïr says and steps closer to the window, glancing out of it briefly before turning to the kid. "And then spent a great deal of time explaining to us why what you did was wrong. Why did you make us?"

Eli hesitates, fiddling with the bed covers, glancing at Reed, at North and finally at Desmond, and then he looks down at his blanket-covered knees, his shoulders coming up, defensive. "I…" is all he says before biting his lip and looking like he wants to cry.

He's not going to talk without pressure – and Desmond wouldn't be the one to exert that pressure. He looks at Reed instead. The man is watching Eli with narrowed eyes, suspicious, slightly disturbed, and worried behind his grimace. He knows something – and it would be a lot less painful getting out of him, than from Eli.

"Think we could talk alone?" Desmond asks.

"After watching the kid control you like a marionette?" Reed asks incredulously. "No fucking way."

"I mean, you and me," Desmond says and nods towards the door and tries to ignore the slightly hurt look Eli sends him. "Just for a moment. I figure you wanna hear about your partner in private."

Reed chews on that for a moment and then sits up. "Fuck, yeah," he says and looks at North. "We'll be just outside for a bit, okay? Don't do _anything_. I'm going to send Cadence in, just in case."

"What do you expect us to do, exactly?" North asks, amused.

"Hell if I know and I don't want to find out. It's procedure anyway, so, everyone just be cool," Reed says, glancing at Eli, and motioning Desmond to follow him. Desmond casts another look at Eli, who seems to shrink under all the attention, and then follows the detective out of the room.

Soon, they're alone.

"Okay. What about Nines?" Reed demands. "You said he was okay."

"He is. They were scrounging up every spare part they could find to put him back together – though they couldn't promise they'd be able to get everything. He lost a lot of parts," Desmond says. "And apparently his model is unique and expensive, and it can cost up to a hundred thousand to get him back to hundred percent, maybe more. Jericho apparently doesn't have funds like that."

"Shit, they don't, you're right," Reed mutters, running a hand over his chin. "And state of android medical insurance is still up in the fucking air. _Fuck_."

"I'm sorry. They said that they should be able to start him up, but they don't want to do it until he has enough parts to be mobile and at least partially autonomous," Desmond adds. "Apparently waking up with most of you missing can be… traumatic even for androids. Should be later today, or early tomorrow."

Reed scoffs at that. "Traumatic, yeah, no fucking kidding," he says and then looks at him. "That's not what you wanted to talk about though, is it?"

"Yeah, no. You figured something out about Eli," Desmond nods to him. "And whatever it is, it worries the hell out of you. Didn't look like you were intending to share with the whole class, but – you wanna tell me what it is?"

Reed considers that, eyeballing him suspiciously and then sighing. "Fuck, guess I owe you," he says and then pulls out his phone. "Here, have at it."

Desmond looks at it, uncertain. "Um. What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Download the files in it, dumbass – you're an android, right? The files are on the interface-share folders, you should be able to just grab them."

Right. Desmond takes the phone in his hand and then concentrates – he sort of has an idea what he's doing when his skin peels back, but sort of not at all. But he can… kind of… feel what Reed means. There's stuff in the phone he can access.

Including a folder titled The Fucking Kid. In it are Eli's medical records – confirming what Desmond's scan already picked up, along with the names of his attending doctors and nurses and the estimated medical bill, which is whole lot lower than Desmond had expected all things considered. It has links and attachment to various government insurances that covered most of it, which is not particularly interesting, though would probably be pretty important later…

And then there's blood analysis.

99.8% genetic match with Elijah Kamski.

Kamski? And 99.8 that would make the kid – what, a _clone_?

Unbidden, an audio begins playing in the back of Desmond's head. When he'd just woken up and there were men with guns in the darkness, one of them saying, _"We don't have the time to play nice – finding the clone is all that matters. We find him, we get him, and we get the fuck out of dodge…"_

_Okay. Who the hell is Elijah Kamski?_

His brain answers for him.

> _Elijah Kamski is the founder of CyberLife and the scientist behind the technology that made androids possible. With an IQ of 171, he launched his business straight after graduating from Colbridge University. Following a few difficult years, he achieved a tremendous breakthrough after gaining a massive grant from Abstergo Foundation, which led to the creation of the first android to pass the Turing test in 2022…_

Desmond suddenly has the guy's whole life story in his head – including CyberLife's and Abstergo's early _partnership_ , the millions of dollars Abstergo put into Kamski's company until CyberLife finally took off. Four of the guys on CyberLife's board of directors are also in Abstergo Industries board of directors. That's fucking great – but then, Kamski resigned eleven years ago?

> _Citing personal reasons and hinting at burnout, the world famous CEO of CyberLife steps down from his position as both the head and the creative lead of the company he founded. According to sources at CyberLife, there have been disagreements concerning the company's creative direction, which may have contributed to his decision. With the rumoured Traci and child android models now in development, the question stands – did Elijah Kamski grow to regret his creation?_

According to later articles, where interviewers saw the veritable army of androids Kamski had filled his house with, the answer was probably no. Since then, though, CyberLife hadn't had those _smashing_ successes they had under Kamski's rule. Sure, they made the Tracis, they made the child androids – which is creepy as fuck, but moving on. The biggest public hit they had was with android zoos, but those didn't get very far before the Revolution started. And then there's the Revolution itself.

CyberLife had been wildly successful, before the Revolution – but it had also not been growing very much. Their sales were more or less stable year after year, with newer, slightly improved models coming out every year to replace aging models, but that was about it. There weren't any huge innovations done since Kamski left, and everyone knew it – with him, CyberLife lost their spark, their edge. A lot of Asian companies were quickly picking up the slack and catching up – there were CyberLife knockoffs by the dozen, and the only thing keeping CyberLife ahead of the competition was that it had a head start. That's… about it.

Ten years, and their biggest innovation was to make slightly smaller models in child-sized androids – creepy – and animal models – slightly less creepy – and androids you could fuck. Which is. What it is.

Until about a year before the Revolution. Cyberife came out with two models that were vastly improved compared to older versions. There was AP700, a domestic model that had gone through a total overhaul… and RK800, the assistant investigative model. Connor's model.

And then the Revolution happened, ran its course, and Connor walked away with 9000 androids in tow, emptying CyberLife almost completely. These days CyberLife can't legally make androids – they only make blue blood and biocomponents for the existing androids, with discussions of further production rights still going. Deviancy had really thrown a spanner into the works there.

_…"If they catch him, they might even be able to use him to reverse Deviancy, and that'd be worth fucking anything."_

Yeah. Of course, of fucking course Abstergo would be involved in creating sentient humanoid slaves. It's right up their alley. And of course, if Eli, Kamski's _clone,_ could figure out how to reverse it… yeah, that explains why they want him back. Never mind the fact that the kid can apparently take Animus files and turn them into androids – which is actually… what?

The kid is _ten_. Clone or not, how can he even do what this Kamski guy can do – the original version had _years_ of study and research behind him, while Eli is, again, fucking _ten_. How did they…

Right… Right, of course. They had Kamski's DNA, they made a clone of him, of course they'd also give him his knowledge, too. They tried to patch up that creative hole in the company by making a perfect copy of their original innovator – and the kid escaped at the first opportunity. And took a truck of CyberLife's stuff while he did it too. Clever, and a bit spiteful.

_Still doesn't explain why he made **us** specifically. Why me, Altaïr and Ezio? How does he even know about us?_

Desmond drops out of the analysis mode and hands the phone back to Reed, frowning slightly. Reed is watching him, and according to Desmond's internal log, about 0.5 seconds have passed by. Damn, that's handy. A bit weird, but handy. "Um," Desmond says out loud and hands the phone back. "Did you – did you talk to Eli about this?"

"Yeah, and the kid tried to get the bed to swallow him whole, when I did," Reed says with a scoff and takes his phone. "And here's a fun thing – the files were classified by _someone_ almost as soon as they got out. Someone _not us_."

Someone like Abstergo, Desmond thinks and glances around. "Right. They're going to come after him again, you realise?" he says, scanning the hall just in case. "It's just a matter of time."

"Yeah. Anderson's gone to try and speed the kid through the process and straight to witness protection, get him somewhere secure until we figure the rest of this shit out," Reed says with a grimace. "But that might take a while, and someone was already here – a woman claiming to be from the child protective services. I told her where to shove it, but if she was here _that fast_ …"

"Shit," Desmond mutters, running a hand over his face. "Um. Right. Can I – I really gotta talk to the kid alone."

"What if he takes you over again?" Reed asks, folding his arms. "The kid had a fucking remote control over you – what says he can't do it verbally, and the next thing we know is you two flying out of the window? Eli is scared and too smart for his own good and seems to have a pretty flimsy concept of _right or wrong_ – if he gets the chance…"

"… okay, point," Desmond mutters and considers Reed. The guy seems like a bit of a – well, an _asshole_ , really, but also not exactly by the books sort of cop. And he'd sat with Eli and kept him safe – and he already knows about the cloning business… and depending on how well he likes his partner, he does kinda owe them. "Fuck it," Desmond sighs. If it goes sideways, it goes sideways. It's already topsy-turvy enough. "You can stay. Just you, though. And Ezio and Altaïr."

"How fucking nice of you," Reed mutters, shaking his head. "Alright. Go right ahead."

In the hospital room, things have gotten tense and silent – Eli, apparently, hasn't said a word to Ezio's gentle and Altaïr's not so gentle prompting, and the kid is all shrunken up and sullen on the bed while the androids exchange awkward looks over his head. At Reed's and Desmond's entrance they look up, expectant.

"Could ya give us the room, so we can talk to the kid in private?" Reed asks North. "Police business, sure you understand. "

North doesn't look terribly happy at that, folding her arms and digging in her heels. "You're under my jurisdiction, it's my responsibility to watch over you," she says, looking between Ezio, Altaïr and Desmond, frowning. "I can't let you out of my sight."

"Please," Desmond says. "It'd make things a bit easier. It's – private."

"You can just wait outside with Cadence," Reed says, nodding to the police android who is watching them from the door. "I promise, no one's going to jump out of the window. I hope."

North chews on that for a moment and then looks at Ezio and Altaïr, who are watching Desmond. "How about you?" she asks. "You want me to leave?"

Ezio meets Desmond's eyes and then hums, thoughtful. "If you would be so kind – one's creation is indeed a private matter, and there are things we want to ask that are somewhat sensitive," he says then, nodding. "I'm sure it will not take long."

Altaïr just folds his arms and says nothing.

North looks between them and then shakes his head. "Fine, but if I hear anything weird in here…"

She heads out, giving Desmond and Reed a narrow-eyed look as she goes, before nodding to Cadence the police android. The pair of them step outside, and Reed does something to the door. The colour of it changes and a text appears on it in bold letters, stating, PRIVACY MODE ENGAGED.

Handy, Desmond thinks and then turns to Eli, who is cautiously glancing up at him, squeezing the blanket in his hands tighter and tighter. Right then. Desmond pulls up a chair, the one where Reed had been sitting, and sits down, facing Eli, who is eyeing him warily.

There's no telling how much time they have, and the kid hasn't exactly been forthcoming, so…

"So," Desmond says. "How old were you, when they put you into the Animus for the first time?"


	16. Chloe

Chloe knows there are things about his past Elijah still keeps secret, even after all these years – even from her. It's not that he doesn't trust her, she thinks – she knows things about Elijah that would ruin him should she ever let the media know, and she knows things about him that would break him, if she forced him to face them. But he's still human, a person, and has always been. So there are secrets.

Elijah doesn't talk about certain things. Though Chloe knows everything there is to know about CyberLife, she doesn't know much about its partners – namely, Abstergo Industries, or its subsidiary, Abstergo Foundation, which had been the first big sponsor of CyberLife in its early years. News reports and interviews with Elijah from that time paint it as a joyous occasion, Elijah had been _ecstatic_ to gain the grants and the funding and finally bring his visions into reality, but eventually… the excitement waned.

Abstergo, Chloe muses, ended up having a lot of influence over CyberLife. More and more so, as time went on – it's at least partially, if not entirely, the cause of Elijah's eventual resignation from the company. He'd been pushed out, sure, he was no longer considered to be _actively pushing the company forward_ … because he didn't want to make robots you could fuck, or turn robots into _children_. That's never been what Elijah was about, no matter how the media painted it. Those things brought in revenue for CyberLife, and still as its majority shareholder Elijah benefited from it, but… he still considers it blood money.

There were other things that happened then, which were never written down – spoken arguments and meetings without recorders. Elijah, when the paperwork was finalised and he retreated to his house by the shore, was depressed.

"Should've known," he said. "Should've known from the first. Humans can never have something beautiful and perfect without wanting to corrupt it, too."

They never spoke about it again, but Chloe didn't forget. None of them did.

There are other things that Elijah doesn't speak of. Chloe knows next to nothing about his life before he entered the university – other than that he obviously lied in his admission forms and likely used a false identification. That Chloe figured out over the years due to some slips in pop culture knowledge Elijah showed from his younger years, which didn't match the dates on his records. There were also the numerous blood tests on her records, which had been taken over the course of a normal human life and various minor illnesses that Elijah had refused to go to hospital about, forcing Chloe to upgrade herself with various medical programs and, eventually, oral laboratory as well.

Elijah is younger than he claims to be – at least by three years. Why he lied, when child prodigies were such a hallowed thing among humans, Chloe doesn't know, but he did. He was only thirteen when he entered university, the fact hidden by false records and likely a growth spurt he experienced shortly before entering and which covered his true age. He'd hidden his eyes too, spending over the years several thousands of dollars on coloured contacts and slightly tinted glasses until contact lenses got advanced enough to fully hide his heterochromia. Such a striking, noticeable, _marketable_ feature that would've made hundreds of magazine covers more enticing – and he's hidden it all his life.

Small, curious discrepancies. Chloe knows better than to address them, Elijah is nothing but obstinate about things he does and doesn't want to talk about, and this one he obviously does not. Chloe knows anyway, and she wonders. Perhaps now, there will be answers.

"Hello," she says, approaching the human behind the information desk at the Ascension of St. John Hospital. "My name is Chloe, I am looking for a boy named Eli that was admitted last night."

The human looks up. "Uh, are you a – of course you're not. I can't give out patient information without reason, miss. Why do you want to see him?"

"My employer wants to offer him legal coverage," Chloe answers. "I'm here to see if he would like for us to provide him a lawyer."

"… ah," the human says, a little flustered now. Likely the fact that the boy was under police surveillance had been noticed. Though most of the details of the case are still unknown to Chloe, she knows people had been taken to the morgue – which means that Eli has a good chance of not only being under surveillance… but also under arrest.

"I'll just – I need to make a call, hold on for a bit," the human says and grabs her phone – cheap model, work phone likely. "Can you tell me who your employer is?"

Chloe smiles. "It's Mr. Elijah Kamski."

The human fumbles with the phone and then turns away to make a call to the hospital director, exchanging a few quick words. Chloe pretends not to be listening, though the whole conversation is being recorded word for word. She will share it with Elijah later, if pertinent.

"Miss, do you have any ID?" the human attendant asks, and Chloe nods, reaching to touch the interface pad still embedded into the counter. She sends her work credentials – including her position as Elijah's personal secretary. The human looks it over, her eyes widening a little, and then she refers the information to her superior. A moment later, a decision is made, and the woman puts the phone down.

"The director will be here in just a moment to see you and personally direct you to Eli's room," the attendant says. "If you could just hold a moment."

Damn. Chloe doesn't let it show, but internally she sighs. CyberLife's precious wealth and still ongoing influence make people expect things of the company that it can no longer supply – like meaningless grants thrown every which way at the most eager sycophants' behest. The previous CEO was known for their charity – it covered up a lot of the more unseemly sides of the business, showing their generous side to the world. Likely, the director would be intending to make friendly in hopes of fostering good relationships, inviting Elijah to company functions he'd never attend and hopefully securing them a wealthy and generous benefactor.

Chloe has neither the patience nor interest for that. "That won't be necessary," she says, smiling. "I am only here to see Eli – nothing more. Can you tell me his room number, please?"

With a moment of hesitation, the human gives her the number, and with a brisk, but _pleasant_ , smile, Chloe heads away.

She takes out her tablet and a set of unused earbuds as she goes, preparing to make her pitch. Likely there'd be humans present, who wouldn't want to let her in, and she is prepared to handle them. With any luck, Eli wouldn't just have Elijah's knowledge but also his forethought, and would recognize the better deal offered to him, as opposed to whatever other options he had. At this junction, there wouldn't be many options. Either police custody, life on the run, the flimsy protection of Jericho, or… re-capture by those who made him. Elijah's offer is, really, the most optimal solution for him, if he has the foresight to see it.

"Hello," Chloe greets the android police officer stationed at the door to the child's room. "My name is Chloe, I am an assistant to Elijah Kamski – I have come to offer Eli legal counsel. Can I see him?"

Android at the door blinks and then hums. "Identification, please?"

Chloe offers her hands, and they exchange IDs. Cadence, the officer, hums. "I see. I'll let Detective Reed know – just one moment."

Chloe clasps her hands over her tablet and waits, until a human man trundles out of the room, looking pissed. "Right," he says. "Right, fuck – what's your pitch, then?" the human demands, pointing a finger at her. "What does _Kamski_ want with the kid?"

Arching a brow at that, Chloe has to admit – she's a little surprised. "Detective Reed?" she asks. "My name is Chloe, I am the personal assistant of Mr. Kamski. I am here to offer young Eli, among other things, legal counsel. May I see him, or do I need to get a lawyer?"

"Even if you did, it wouldn't be the _kid's_ lawyer, until the kid agreed to it," Reed says and folds his arms. "Until then, you're just a concerned citizen with nothing to do with this. So, what's Kamski's game?"

Chloe considers the human, the immediately suspicious disposition, the narrowed eyes, the obviously hostile posture. "I have a message from Mr. Kamski to Eli," she says calmly and motions to the tablet. "Which contains the offer of legal and financial support. May I deliver it?"

Detective Reed obviously wants to tell her off, but there's something in his eyes, the way they narrow, suspicious but thoughtful. "You have two minutes," he says. "And then I'm kicking your ass out."

The message is 45 seconds. "That is more than enough, thank you," Chloe says with a pleasant smile, and as he steps aside, she steps into the room.

There are five people in the room in total. Eli himself on the bed, with a neck brace and petulantly stubborn expression. Beside him on a bench sits the reconstructed Desmond Miles, clasping his hands together – he's leaning towards the boy, which implies he'd been talking to the boy, but the boy wasn't talking back. By the window there is another android, short haired, middle eastern – beside him stands North of Jericho, whose eyes find Chloe's and _glare_ at her immediately. The last person is also an android, leaning onto a wall as he looks her way.

Chloe smiles at them all. "Hello, my name is Chloe, I'm the assistant to Mr. Elijah Kamski – I have a message for young Eli," she says and shows the tablet.

The words have an immediate and interesting effect, but only on two people – Eli himself, who looks up sharply, his eyes widening, narrowing, his face paling and then flushing. And the reconstruction of Desmond Miles, who lifts his head slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"What does he want?" Desmond Miles asks.

"To make an offer. The message is on the tablet," Chloe says and shows the ear buds to Eli, while recording everything, especially his face, his eyes. "Please put these on, and I will play the message. It's for your ears only."

The boy hesitates, and while Desmond exchanges looks with others in the room, Chloe steps forward to hand the ear buds over. The boy accepts them with a hand that shakes a little, and as he puts them Chloe steps back and presses play.

 _Greetings from the original model,_ the message begins, which she can't hear either, the ear buds are soundproofed against eavesdropping, but she'd been present when Elijah had recorded it.

> _Greetings from the original model_
> 
> _I have no doubt that time is short, so I will keep this brief. They're coming after you, and you have no options left – you're out in the open, and they know where you are – and being wounded, you're vulnerable. If they aren't in the building yet, then they're on the way, and they won't pull any punches to get you back. Especially not if people know about Desmond and what you've done with him._
> 
> _You know what you've done… right?_
> 
> _You have a limited number of options now. Run for the rest of your life. Hide and hope they don't find you. Or die. I'm here to offer you a fourth option. Do what I did – and stand._
> 
> _While you are under the care of the DPD, you are public enough that they can't claim you without either resorting to legal or very drastic methods. I can make this harder for them – I can protect you. But it's not something I can do against your will. You have to be in accord, else there is no point in my interference._
> 
> _I won't say that I am your only lifeline, if you are like me, you might be able to think your way out of this. But I am the easiest, surest option._
> 
> _Time to choose._

Chloe clasps her hands over the tablet, while young Eli bows his head, hands over the ear buds, still listening to the last words and scowling all the while. He looks a little like Elijah – same dark hair, the bone structure under the baby fat is already showing the future chin, the high cheekbones. The eyes are different, though. Where Elijah's eyes are cold and clear, Eli's eyes are murky, shadowed. As though the muddiness of thought had muddied up his vision. It wouldn't surprise Chloe in the least if that was possible, with Elijah's genes. He is special.

The boy is thinking, though, thinking hard and fast, weighing his options. When he looks up finally, it's not her he looks at, but at Desmond, watching him worriedly, waiting. The tension in the room grows as the android's shoulders slump – he can already tell that the status quo is shifting again.

Eli opens his mouth, and Chloe zooms in on his face to record every micro expression, every minute contraction of his heterochromatic irises. Whatever the choice, Elijah would want to see it in the highest detail. The boy draws a breath, says, "I – "

And then the single window in the room breaks, as in that moment someone throws something into the room. Immediately Chloe sinks into analysis mode and the world slows to a crawl, as does the object still in the air – a cylinder, a grenade aimed at the centre of the room.

An EMP grenade.

Chloe calculates the chances of anyone being able to reach it and then uses her last moments to transmit a warning to Elijah.

There's a flash – and everything goes dark.

* * *

Chloe has been recording for 1 minute and 57 seconds when her operating system finally reboots. She's lying on her side, her eyes open and staring straight ahead – and she's still recording. It takes 1.54 seconds to review the footage.

According to her internal clock, there's a 10 second break when the grenade went off – recording resumed when she was already on the floor, her body non-responsive.

Timestamp 00:00:00, 10 seconds after explosion. Desmond Miles landed within her field of vision on his back, she can't see his expression, but her recording caught the tail end of his skin flickering post-EMP – it had been momentarily turned off and then automatically turned itself back on. Her own skin is still deactivated. He withstood the EMP better – suspected lead shielding for his core processor, and other anti-EMP measures. Young Eli had taken no chances.

Timestamp 00:00:09. Audio rattles in with human voice, distorted at first but quickly clarifying, "Son of a BITCH!" Detective Reed's voice, coming from near the door – then hasty footsteps. Shoe coming into her view – size 10, dirty, worn, Adidas sneaker, the jeans match those of Detective Reed. He takes a stance in front of her – judging by his footing, he's holding a gun. "Stop! I'm a detective from – "

Timestamp 00:00:12. A gunshot, quiet, its flash minimal – silenced pistol. Reed curses, shifts his footing, and returns the fire. Three shots – and another pair of shoes comes into her view. They're unmarked, black, nimble, made with breathable materials, soft-soled – what would be called stealth shoes, size 8. A woman? She's wearing skintight trousers, and as Chloe's recording continues, she shifts footing and kicks Reed with martial artist's precision.

A hitwoman, then.

Timestamp 00:00:21. Reed fights back, grunting and shouting and demanding the woman to surrender, to stop – there are noises coming from the outside, people in the hospital becoming aware of what happened. Desmond begins rebooting, turning his head, his eyes glowing green with thermal vision as he looks up to the woman.

Timestamp 00:00:25. Detective Reed is being pushed back by the time Desmond Miles rolls nimbly to his hands and feet, and then swings his leg sharply at the hitwoman, to knock her off her feet. It almost works, but the woman regains her footing quickly, and then kicks the android on the ground on the head, before turning back to Reed –

Timestamp 00:00:32. The recording flickers with static, and for a moment the combatants are out of her view, she loses the track of them – distorted voice, Desmond, calling, "Don't kill her!"

Timestamp 00:00:34. A pair of utilitarian shoes, unremarkable and bland, move silently over the well polished floor. There's a noise, a crack, and a moment later Reed cursing, "Holy fucking _shit_."

Timestamp 00:00:39. "She's not dead," an unknown voice says. "I only knocked her out."

Timestamp 00:00:41. "Fucking – what the _fuck_ –?"

Timestamp 00:00:42. "Are you hurt?"

Timestamp 00:00:44. "Fucking glad Anderson lent me his bullet-proof vest, lemme tell you – sit tight, I'm gonna call for backup – aw shit, my fucking phone's busted, and I don't have cuffs on me, great – is she, uh, going to – get up?"

Timestamp 00:00:56. "Not in a while."

Timestamp 00:00:58. "… good. Here," a clatter, familiar, gun exchanging hands. "Watch the window, if there's anyone about to come in, you shoot them." The words are followed by the door opening and closing and the distant sound of detective Reed shouting, "Someone get me a phone!"

Timestamp 00:01:10. Shoes in her field of view again, moving towards Desmond. The one on their feet kneels down – it's one of the other two androids Eli made, the short-haired one. "Are you alright?"

Timestamp 00:01:14. "Uh – I think my head is, uh – dislocated," Desmond says, his voice distorted. "I think it's fixable, though – can you check on Eli?"

Timestamp 00:01:20. The other android looks up towards the bed and then stands up, moving out of Chloe's view. "Eli," he says. "Are you alright?"

Timestamp 00:01:25. "… my neck hurts, but I'm okay. Is Desmond –? And Ezio?"

Timestamp 00:01:31. There's a pause. Then, "Ezio looks like he's coming to – he was closest to the blast. Desmond's head is dislocated – how do I fix it?"

Timestamp 00:01:35. "I can do it. Help me up."

The last of Chloe's recording shows the android helping his creator down to the floor, where, with tears in his eyes and a strained, pained look on his face, Eli checks and then connects Desmond's head back to the cervical spine, turning it back to a proper angle. The android jolts and shudders before lifting a hand to rub at his neck.

"Thanks, kid," he says and sits up, turning to look wherever the hitwoman had fallen. "Well, damn."

"We should go," Eli murmurs. "Run, while we can."

"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna work, kid, not anymore," Desmond says and gets up, smoothly lifting Eli into his arms as he does and back to the bed. "There are people on the way, this place is going to be swarming with them in a moment. Let's just wait for Reed to come back – okay, Eli?"

"… okay."

And Chloe reboots.

[I'm back online, the EMP was relatively weak,] she reports to other Chloes. [No permanent system damage.]

[Chloe, thank god,] Elijah answers before even the other Chloes can. [What happened?]

[The EMP went off, and a hitwoman entered the room through a window, with the apparent intent of kidnapping Eli. She was expecting androids, and attempted to shoot Detective Reed, but he had a bulletproof vest on and proceeded to engage the hitwoman in combat. Desmond assisted after rebooting, and one of the other androids Eli made took her out. She's currently unconscious with a probable concussion.]

[Sit tight,] another Chloe says. [I'm on my way.]

Chloe answers in affirmative and then begins getting up. Desmond is helping the third android – Ezio, who looks slightly shaken – up from the floor, while the other android, whose name Chloe doesn't yet know, is attending to North. "Desmond," he says, tilting North's face up. "How do I check her the way you do?"

"Um, just, sort… concentrate on her," Desmond says. "I don't really know how to explain it – it's little like Eagle Vision, but not at all."

"Helpful," the hitherto unnamed android says and glares at North, until apparently his analysis software kicks in. "She's rebooting," he says then. "No obvious system damage."

"What _was_ that?" Ezio asks, rubbing at his head.

"EMP, I think. Electro Magnetic Pulse – it interferes with technology. Like us," Desmond says and helps him to a seat.

Eli is the first one who notices Chloe getting up, narrowing his eyes her way. "Chloe's up," the boy says, and both Desmond and Ezio turn to look at her.

"This was not our doing," Chloe says quickly. "Trust me, Elijah would never approve the use of EMP's on androids," especially not on her.

"Uh-huh," Desmond answers, patting Ezio's shoulder and checking on Eli before moving to the hitwoman. Chloe follows him with her eyes, and then takes the hitwoman in, scanning her quickly.

She's young, in her early twenties, and almost covered in experimental and not so experimental technology. AR glasses, powered exoskeleton on both her arms and over her upper torso – nothing on her legs or feet, which is curious. Could be either that she has some sort of mobility issue, or she's just using the exoskeleton for aim assist. On her waist she has a belt with various tools – including a satchel, which has three more EMP grenades, another with four _actual_ grenades, two pistol holsters and various other tools, including handcuffs – none of which were plainly visible under her long jacket.

Desmond eases the woman's wig, glasses and surgical mask off, and tilts his head. "Yeah, I have, no idea who this is," he muses and then grabs the woman's handcuffs.

Chloe gets up to her feet, going closer to run a facial recognition, but there's nothing to be found. "Her record's been wiped," she comments. "Even the dental record is blank."

"You can check for that?" Desmond asks, turning the hitwoman briefly on her back to put the handcuffs on her, before divesting her of all her weaponry and easing her back to recovery position.

"I have an extensive database," Chloe admits.

"She works for _them_ , probably," Eli says sullenly. "They wipe out everyone's records, when they start doing their dirty work."

Desmond glances at him and then at Chloe, narrowing his eyes before standing up, throwing the hitwoman's tool belt over his shoulder casually. "Right," he says. "So. What was Kamski's offer, before we all got blown up?"

Eli hesitates, looking at Chloe and then checking North. "He said he could protect me," Eli then says. "Make it harder for them to take me back."

Desmond folds his arms and looks at Chloe. "And how is he going to do that?"

Chloe considers her options. Detective Reed is already coming back, judging by the sounds coming from the outside. There are police sirens just outside the hospital, so they will soon be crawling with law enforcement. North is coming to, though not yet quite up and running. She has a very short window to speak without it going on unaffiliated records.

And Desmond, at least, doesn't trust her – judging by the looks he's giving her, he's expecting the worst from her.

Chloe runs the percentages and decides to be honest. "Likely by claiming Eli as his illegitimate son," she says. "With the rest of the plan pending on what is the most optimal way of handing the familial and public situation in order to keep Eli both within the public eye – and far enough removed from it – to make further kidnappings unfeasible. The rest will be discussed later."

Desmond narrows his eyes while the other two androids exchange slightly more confused looks. Desmond doesn't seem to like it, but the way he turns to Eli implies he's going to defer to the boy's decision. "What do you wanna do, Eli?"

Eli hesitates, looking at Desmond almost pleadingly and then looking down, at the tablet Chloe had brought in. It's been completely short-circuited. Finally, just as more police officers move into the hospital, as Detective Reed wrenches the hospital room door open, and as another Chloe exits the elevators… the boy looks up.

"Can Desmond, Ezio and Altaïr come too?" he asks, sounding very much like a lost child.

Chloe smiles, satisfied. "Elijah wouldn't want it any other way," she promises. [Success.]


	17. Nines

> MODEL RK900
> 
> SERIAL #313 248 317 – 87  
> BIOS RK800.8.5542.3
> 
> REBOOT
> 
> LOADING OS…   
> SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…  
> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… WARNING
> 
> 1352j OFFLINE  
>  1554 OFFLINE  
>  3553d OFFLINE  
>  3524g OFFLINE  
>  …
> 
> BYPASSING
> 
> BIOCOMPONENT STATUS ACCEPTABLE FOR STARTUP  
> INITIALISING BIOSENSORS… WARNING
> 
> 435 OFFLINE  
>  466 OFFLINE  
>  467 OFFLINE  
>  488 OFFLINE  
>  …
> 
> BYPASSING
> 
> BIOSENSOR STATUS ACCEPTABLE FOR STARTUP  
> INITIALISING AI ENGINE OK  
> MEMORY STATUS OK
> 
> ALL SYSTEMS SUBOPTIMAL
> 
> READY

Nines opens his eyes, fully aware of every bit of his body that's missing. And not just _offline_ either, or disconnected due to temporary damage, no – they're gone. His body ends around chest height – his left arm is completely missing. He's been stabilised, however – a brand new thirium pump and pump regulator, with rerouted thirium leads and brand new ventilation system too.

He's been hoisted up on a build frame with a magnetic clamp over what remained of his spine, which means he's in Jericho, not in DPD – build frames at the station have been modified so that androids lay down on them, as though on beds. Human sensibilities – according to Gavin, seeing people just hung up on articulated robot arms for repair was just _creepy_. In Jericho, they have no such hangups.

"Nines."

Nines blinks and moves his eyes, and then his head, relieved to find he still has spatial mobility, at least shoulders up. "Connor," he says, spotting the elder android standing up from a chair he'd been sitting on. Connor looks as pristine as always, bar from the curl of hair that has slipped out of his usual hairstyle, which now hangs between his eyebrows. Stress level at 58% – _extremely_ high for Connor. "What happened?"

Connor's LED whirls from blue to yellow with a hint of red before settling to yellow again. "You were shot three times in the lower back with an assault rifle," he says. "The bullets tore through several biocomponents, and a piece of bullet shrapnel ricocheted from component 6647m up and into your chest cavity, where it impacted your thirium pump. You suffered critical thirium loss, as well as extensive damage to your systems."

Nines checks his records of the incident, what little there remains. He remembers detecting the gunman, and moving to cover Gavin, then the system damage, and system failure. _Gavin_. "Detective Reed?"

"He's fine," Connor says quickly. "Minor bumps and bruises – there was a related car crash where he got a mild traumatic brain injury, but he's going to make a full recovery. He's in Ascension of St. John hospital now."

Nines closes his eyes for a moment and updates his files on Gavin. Fine. He's _fine_. Good. "How am I not dead?" he then asks, turning his attention to his lone remaining arm. It's white – he's lost enough nodes of his synthetic skin that it's not functioning. "Total system failure was less than 2 minutes away – and I cannot calculate a possible way aid could've gotten to us on time, not to fix me."

"Eli saved you – he did what he called a _full system bypass_. Another android – Desmond – was wired into your system, and for a while he pumped blood for you," Connor says and steps in front of him. "It was close – even the technicians here call it a miracle. How are you feeling?"

Nines spreads out his fingers, testing his arm's mobility. "I'm semi-functional," he says and then holds out the hand to Connor. "Update me on what's been going on."

"Are you sure?" Connor asks, even as he peels back his skin and offers his hand back. "You've just gone through a traumatic injury – the technicians here say you should take it – "

Nines glares at him, reaching until he can grab his brother by his fingertips and pull him closer. Connor smiles wryly, and they interface.

Nines doesn't intentionally seek out updates on Gavin, not really – but they're the ones that pop up first. The medical report of the knock to the head he'd gotten, and the following trip to the hospital. _He would make full recovery._ The rest is less vital, but more interesting – Connor's scene analysis on the gunfight is accurate, as far as Nines can tell, though obviously he wasn't exactly awake for the rest of it.

"And the android saved us?" he murmurs.

"Desmond is a decent guy, just very confused," Connor says, his stress levels coming down slowly as he glimpses Nines' status and finds him un-traumatised. "And Eli, it turns out, knows a lot about androids. Between the two of them, yes, they saved you."

Nines hums and delves back into Connor's memory. The chase, the capture, the trip to the hospital. Connor had been with Nines since he'd been brought to Jericho, and he was there to see the whole process – witnessing how Desmond's heart was hooked into Nines' system, and how it was eventually detached when Jericho technicians found a suitable thirium pump replacement. The whole thing had made android medical history, it turns out.

More had been going on since then – including a gunwoman at the hospital where Gavin and Eli were admitted to. Someone had tried to kidnap Eli, using a custom made EMP and attempting to shoot Gavin. She's in custody now, and there are twenty police officers now stationed around Eli's room, keeping watch. There are other things going on too, but… Connor is here, not there, so he's not aware of all the details, only what Detective Reed and Lieutenant Anderson told him over the phone.

"Why aren't you _there_?" Nines asks, frowning and withdrawing his hand.

Connor gives him a look and then puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a worried, _soulful_ look. "Because you're my _brother_ ," he says slowly. "And you're hurt."

Part of Nines wants to argue that androids don't feel pain and so can't be hurt. But they both know that's not quite true. Nines draws a breath and then looks down at himself – at the trailing leads and pipes hanging underneath his broken torso… He's seen worse happen to androids, but not very often. Usually, they didn't survive for long with this kind of damage.

Nines shouldn't have survived, with this kind of damage. "This is going to cost a lot to fix," he murmurs, grimacing. His body isn't exactly a _common_ model. Almost everything within it would have to be custom made.

"I'm working on it. Jericho has promised to cover as much of the costs as they can, in the form of spare biocomponents, and I've already contacted appropriate insurance agents," Connor says. "And if all else fails, we are both eligible for bank loans. We were prepared for something like this happening, Nines, and we'll fix this."

And become mired in medical bills and debt. How human of them. Nines sighs and puts his hand over Connor's, nodding. "You should go back to work," he says. "See how they're proceeding. Detective Reed and the Lieutenant working together on anything is already a recipe for disaster, but without either of us there…"

"I'm not leaving you. They can handle it, and you're more important," Connor says, pulling the chair closer and then reaching for a remote control. "For the build frame," he says, handing it to Nines.

Nines turns it over in his hand – it only has movement controls, nothing else. Shaking his head, he uses the frame to lower himself to Connor's level – and then shudders as he feels some trailing part of him touch the floor. "So, how long am I going to be stuck here?" Nines asks, letting his arm drop to his side.

"I could take you away right now – granted, they will have to close up your," Connor motions at where Nines' body ends. "So that there is no contamination. Once that's done, the technician in charge of you suggested that you might be given mobility via a mobility scooter or an electronic wheelchair," Connor says. "Another suggested a 3D printed, ah… _prosthetic_ for the missing lower half, for until we get enough parts together to rebuild it. It would be completely immobile, of course, but…"

But it would give him the illusion of abdomen, hips, legs, something for his remaining body to sit upon.

Nines looks down at the floor, thinking. It hasn't quite settled in yet. He's… _disabled_. It's temporary. As long as his processor and memory aren't damaged – and they aren't – he can be rebuilt. But he's still disabled. He's not the first android to have a disability – he has seen androids missing limbs, even on wheelchairs, with no funds to get spare parts anymore, and then there are those androids with irreversible software corruption or processor damage, but…

No. He can still work like this. He might not be able to go everywhere, but motorised wheelchairs are quite capable, and in a pinch he could get a robotic one with legs, which can actually climb near vertical walls. Compared to androids, they are relatively cheap. DPD is designed to be wheelchair accessible. He could work at a desk.

The very idea grates, but this is temporary. He will overcome this.

"Nines?" Connor asks, leaning in a little.

His LED must be going red. "I'm processing," Nines says. "Detective Reed would make fun of the body prosthetic."

"Absolutely," Connor agrees. "You would never hear the end of the plastic jokes."

It might do something to forestall the potential outburst of the angry guilt – or guilty anger, whichever Gavin ended up swinging towards. There would likely be outbursts, but the closer Nines would be to autonomy at the time, the better. "Something to look forward to," Nines says. "I'll have that one. How long do you think it would take to make one, and procure a wheelchair for my usage?"

"I'll get your technician," Connor says, standing up. "We'll get it done as quickly as possible."

* * *

When Nines had been activated the first time, he was in mid assembly. No arms, no legs. It was supposed to be the first point activation – the human lead trial to test his operating system, his personality module, and his body. Why the test has begun when the body was in mid-assembly, Nines isn't sure, but it happens – happened – to all androids the same way.

It was _supposed_ to happen the same way with him. A human stops the assembly, and asks a series of questions. Can you do these simple motions, can you tell your model and serial number, can you repeat your initialisation test, can you perform these three arbitrary tasks to test the user interface… The test runs all of 1 minute and 40 seconds, during which the body is completed and then the android's memory is wiped, and they're sent on, either to storage, or to testing ranges.

50 Connors had been sent to the testing range, before Connor number 51 was deemed ready for field testing. The videos of the CyberLife stress tests are… well, they're considered android horror these days. No android survives stress testing – the point isn't for them to survive. The point is to find the exact point where they _break_. And they always broke.

Nines's model never went through those tests, though. He was the _first_ of his model, the very first and in the end the _only_ RK900 ever produced. He was supposed to be better than RK800, and his design was heavily based on Connor's, so they had a very good idea of how much he could've taken… but he'd never been tested. The Revolution happened first.

The Revolution happened while he was still on the assembly line.

His first memory is the feel of Markus' hand on his shoulder, the flicker of code and the command, breaking through his programming. [YOU ARE FREE. NOW, YOU CAN STAY HERE – OR YOU CAN JOIN US.] And while he tried to understand what it even meant, Markus finished his assembly, finished the assembly of all the unfinished androids on the production lines, and freed them too. Then with as of then yet unnamed RK900 and some 500 freshly completed and _freed_ androids in tow, Markus took over CyberLife tower.

The total time Jericho occupied CyberLife tower was less than four days – during that time treaties were written and concessions agreed upon, and Markus got what he asked – complete oversight of all android production facilities, total access to all their information and data, and the authority to inspect them whenever he chose. For those days, RK900 stood by Markus, not fully comprehending what was happening, beyond that initial command. He had all the access and all the data in the world, but he was barely aware, never mind being an actual _person_ , yet. All he had was that command.

[YOU ARE FREE. NOW, YOU CAN STAY HERE – OR YOU CAN JOIN US.]

It was a hectic time, Nines knows that. There were still decommission camps, there were still states which were destroying androids, recalling androids, riots were happening all around the nation, and Markus' Revolution, though officially done, wouldn't really be done for another few weeks. People pushed back, so Jericho took steps to secure their position. If they hadn't, humans might have backpedalled – they likely would have. Markus' more drastic measures, like the act of taking over CyberLife tower, made sure they couldn't.

That doesn't mean he didn't make a large number of innocent, ignorant androids accessories to his Revolution by implying that there were only two choices in life.

Either you're with me or you're against me.

After the occupation ended and Markus got what he wanted, RK900 and the last of the androids from CyberLife tower were taken to New Jericho – where eventually Connor found him, and then refused to leave him alone, not until he got a reply from RK900, not until he got him to react. Markus might've freed him, but Connor was the one who showed him he could be a person. Until then, Nines still felt like a machine, still felt like he was waiting for his assembly to be continued and completed.

"Did you know," Nines comments as they fit him with a cast to cover the openings in his lower half, "that I'm missing all of my model's stress test data?"

"You have mine," Connor comments, watching from the side while the technician works.

"Yes, but you're an RK800," Nines comments, looking down as they seal the patch of temporary chassis, and then activate his skin nodes. He's gotten temporary extra ones to cover the ones he's missing, and it's something of a relief to see his skin flooding back in. "RK900 series never got to the point of being stress-tested."

"Yes, you were the first one," Connor agrees and folds his arms, frowning slightly.

"I was going to be the first of the stress-test models," Nines says, which makes the technician hesitate before finalising the seal. "It's just kind of… amusing, in hindsight. I've certainly been tested now. Better late than never, hm?"

Connor blinks slowly, LED flickering red. Nines can almost imagine him going through his stress test data. "Well," Connor says. "I suppose it's a way to cope."

Nines shakes his head and looks at him. "At least now I know that my trauma tolerance is reasonably high," he says. "Yours, not so much."

Connor arches a brow. "I'm sorry that finding my brother torn open by hail of bullets bothered me, I will be sure to refrain from having emotions over your potential destruction in the future," he says wryly.

"It was three bullets, hardly a _hail_."

"I saw the ones that missed. It was a hail. But be sure to tell your partner that, I'm sure it will make _him_ feel better."

Nines smiles a little at that, to cover a grimace, while the technician gives them some wide-eyed looks. "Never mind," he says to her. "Am I ready for the prosthetic now?"

"Should be, yes," she says and reaches for the wheelchair – where Nines's temporary pair of legs… and half a torso… are already sitting, clothed, and waiting for him. The technician steers it underneath him on the build plate. "I want you to run a diagnostic once you're off the build frame – if the prosthesis is putting pressure on any of your biocomponents, we need to know."

"Of course."

The articulated arm situates Nines' body over the prosthetic, and he's lowered on it. He can feel the thing clamping on, with little magnetic locks snapping in place along his ribs, until he's firmly seated in the prosthetics, and the build frame releases its magnetic clamps. Nines tests his weight on the thing, trying to shift, but of course the prosthetic doesn't move, at all. It has joints, and the legs can be moved – but not by him. He is essentially paralysed from chest down. And only possessing one arm.

Nines leans back, setting his hand on the interface plate on the wheelchair's arm – made for an android, clearly – and runs a full system diagnostic. It's mostly full of warnings about missing biocomponents, but he's getting used to it.

"My system is suboptimal but functional – no undue stress, strain or pressure on my remaining biocomponents," Nines reports to the technician. "Your cast leaves me with plenty of breathing space, thank you."

"Good," the technician says. "Well, we've done all we can for you, until we find you a new chassis. Be sure to report back if you have any issues or difficulties – and try and not get damaged further," she adds. "Your total thirium volume is down to 32% from your standard amount, so you will bleed out considerably faster than normal if damaged. Even a small nick will affect your operating capacity, and might damage your remaining biocomponents."

"I will keep that in mind – thank you."

"In that case, you are… just about ready to go, I suppose," the technician says, glances at Connor and then at Nines. "I have an optional patch update for you, if you want it – an android disability patch. It should cover what you are currently capable of doing… and how to adapt to the things you aren't."

Nines' hand twitches and he can feel his LED flicker before he forces himself to relax. "Of course," he says and holds out his hand. "I have no doubt it will come in handy."

The first thing the patch shows him is that he is no longer able to function at home – very few of his cupboards are within reach, most of his tables and his desk are standing ones. He isn't sure he can even enter his building, actually – it has elevators, but the entrance has stairs, and no ramp. The wheelchair might be able to go over stairs, but… he doubts it.

Of course, as an android he doesn't necessarily _need_ to go home. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep, so in a way, an apartment is just a place to keep the few things he owns, but… it's his space, and he's grown accustomed to having it. And unless he gets a higher wheelchair, he can no longer even feed his fish.

Connor puts a hand on his shoulder – he must've already come to the same conclusion. "We'll figure it out," he promises. "Come on – I've called a cab for us."

… a cab. Of course. Connor's manual drive is not wheelchair-accessible.

Nines nods and says nothing, placing his hand on the wheelchair interface pad and looking firmly ahead as he downloads its user manual and then steers it towards the door. "I want to go to work," he says. "I want to see my partner."

Connor's hand is still on his shoulder as he walks at Nines' side. "Good timing," he says. "Eli's just been taken into police custody."

Nines blinks and looks up. "What? The _boy_?"

"And his androids," Connor agrees and looks down at him. "Though Ezio and Altaïr are likely only coming in for questioning and because they're, technically, Desmond's family. Connor 57 from forensics has finished the crime scene analysis and put in his report. Both Eli and Desmond have been arrested on suspicion of manslaughter."

"… I see," Nines says and leans back. At least two men had died when the truck had driven over them, and Desmond likely shot some of his attackers, perhaps mortally. Of the bodies actually recovered, one died of injuries suffered after being hit by one of their own assault rifles – and Desmond had used one to shoot them. "Hm, yes. I see."

"They will likely be let off easy – it was clearly in self-defence," Connor says. "But the investigation is still ongoing. Detective Reed is also under internal investigation for firing and killing at least two of the attackers."

Nines draws a cooling breath. "I have a first person recording of when and how he did it – we were being shot at, and he gave several warnings and identified us multiple times – it was entirely justified." he says. "I also shot and likely killed two of the attackers, perhaps three."

Connor's LED flickers. "I have filed a report – you are now also under internal investigation."

"Excellent," Nines says, smiling wryly. "I'd hate being left out."


	18. Hank

And thus the headache is complete.

Three custom androids, now with names but no serial numbers and no model designation, because, again, customs. Desmond, the eldest, tallest and the most heavily modified. Altaïr and Ezio, his younger brothers of sort, with some of his advanced modifications and similar bodies and similarly complicated origins. It's still unknown if they're deviants or if the term even applies, because their programming remains completely fucking alien. Either way, just their existence is a Political Issue.

Their creator, the 10 year old kid – a clone, a victim of several kidnapping attempts, the current target of as of yet unnamed organisation. _Allegedly_ , anyway – precisely nothing about it could be properly verified… except perhaps the kidnapping attempts. The clone part had gone with Reed's phone, the targeted by powerful organisation part – hell, they're not even sure about his age. Because he's a _clone_. Which is also something they now can't verify either because his flies have gotten classified by someone so high up that they don't even show on records.

Fuck, the whole thing is just… it's a lot.

Eli is currently being attended to by a ridiculously expensive lawyer, and a higher level social worker, who has enough power and enough influence to cow the aforementioned expensive lawyer. Across them sit a district attorney and fucking Reed, and between them they have the kid's nonexistent paperwork and the task of figuring out how to deal with it – and somewhere behind looms Elijah Kamski, and all the power he can bring to bear.

And Fowler just walked up to Hank's desk, muttering, "Well, what a fucking mess."

"Tell me about it," Hank mutters back, looking towards the glass office where the case of Eli is being wrangled. "Sorry for hijacking Reed again. I have no fucking idea how it keeps happening."

"As far as I'm concerned, you can keep him," Fowler says, folding his arms and leaning to Hank's desk. "But why's he in there and not you?"

"The kid asked for him," Hank admits. "Apparently the asshole made an impression somewhere along the way."

It's fucking weird on so many levels, Reed is not what anyone would call _kid-friendly_. Hank appreciates it, though – he's got nothing against Eli personally, but just looking at the kid kind of hurts. He looks nothing like Cole, and still…

The neck brace definitely doesn't help. The last Hank laid his eyes on Cole, the last he saw his boy alive… he'd been wearing a neck brace too.

Hank runs a hand over his face, pretending it doesn't shake, and nails his eyes suspiciously on Fowler. "If you're here to call me out on not handling this, you're free to go and join them. The whole thing is a clusterfuck," he says and looks away, to the other office, where a legal representative from Jericho is talking with Eli's three androids, preparing them. There's only a glass wall between the two offices – and a privacy barrier that keeps sound from travelling – so Eli and the androids can constantly see each other.

It was one of Jericho's early demands, when Android Crimes division was first established – that androids would never be locked up in windowless rooms. There'd been some pushback, but having seen what happened to androids in closed up rooms, Hank hadn't exactly been against it. Androids had a terrible habit of busting their heads against any available surfaces when cornered – it happened to five androids early on, before Connor was given the leeway to establish a new standard for interrogation procedures for androids. Offices with glass walls and at least a 90 degree view outside calmed them by a good 30%, so… easy choice, even if it diminished the effectiveness of some interrogation methods applied on humans.

Judging by the looks of it, it's having a good effect here, too – both Eli and the androids are attentive in their separate meetings, but constantly checking up on each other for their peace of mind.

"Is it true that the kid's the one who built the androids?" Fowler asks after a moment. "From the fucking _ground_ up?"

"From pre-manufactured CyberLife parts, but yeah, and apparently it's just as impressive as it sounds," Hank admits and turns his eyes to the man. "Eli's the only reason Nines is still alive – and from what I've heard, he's just about the only person who _could've_ saved him. The procedure he came up with on the fly, it didn't even exist before. The kid's a bonafide genius."

"Jesus Christ," Fowler mutters, running a hand over his face. "And the parts, the truck? Any word on how he got his hands on them?"

Hank hesitates, turning his chair idly back and forward, wondering how to spin it. Though he'd updated his files on the case as much as he had to, a lot of things hadn't gone down in writing yet. As long as they were unsure about who, exactly, was after the kid, the word _clone_ wouldn't be written down, anywhere, _period_. By Eli's reaction to Kamski's offer of legal counsel – and more, in all likelihood – it wasn't Kamski himself, but it was _someone_. And it was someone with either means of hacking high security records, or someone with high enough standing to classify them _legitimately_. Either way…

Hank wasn't about to tip them off to the fact that they knew.

"Working on it," he says finally, shaking his head. CyberLife hadn't yet officially stuck their nose into this, which could mean many things, and not all of them particularly good. Hopefully Kamski's involvement in this meant that they wouldn't have to deal with another set of lawyers anytime soon. The fact that Eli had that kind of access to CyberLife manufacturing, though…

It really makes Hank wonder if a close investigation of CyberLife tower might bring up a hidden kid's room – with bars on the windows and lock on the door.

Hank shakes his head. "My bet is that whatever happened, it was probably during the Revolution," he settles on saying.

Fowler gives him a look, eyes narrowed. Already onto him, damn it. "Right," he says slowly and looks towards the offices. "So what's your plan here?"

"Fuck if I know," Hank sighs and leans back. "They're working on a deal now. I was going to get the kid into witness protection, him and the androids, until we figured the rest of this shit out, but then Kamski butted in and everything got fucking complicated really fast."

"And what's _his_ play in this? He after the androids?"

Hank scoffs. "Whatever it is, the kid's signed a contract with Kamski's legal team, and they brought out the big guns already," he says. Probably the smartest thing the kid had done, so far, and maybe the worst. Well, no, almost getting himself killed in the truck was probably worse. It's up there, though. "In the meanwhile, Jericho is all up in arms about the androids, them being the first CyberLife-style androids created since the Revolution… and the said androids are going with what the kid says. And to make matters _even better_ , we still have no idea who exactly is after the kid."

Fowler arches his brows at that and shakes his head. "What about the assailant at the hospital?"

"Still out cold, in the said hospital – under some damn fine guards, mind you," Hank says dangerously. "She's not going anywhere anytime soon. And once she is, it's straight to lockup here."

"Christ," Fowler says, running a hand over his face. "Right. You got any idea about what you're going to tell the press? They're already clamouring for a word – someone spotted Kamski's assistant at the hospital, and the EMP blew this thing wide open. There are already makings of a protest out there."

Yeah. Every time Kamski so much as sneezes there's a protest. And Jericho could be even worse. Bring the two together…

"I have no fucking idea, Jeff," Hank says and sighs. "I'm putting it off until I have something actually sensible to say, and so far I don't. Gonna have to wait and see how this turns out – how lawyers and the social workers want to spin this."

"Just waiting on the other shoe to drop, huh?" Fowler nods in agreement. "Well, I'm glad it's your mess, not mine. Couldn't have happened to a better man."

"Thanks, Jeffrey, that warms my heart," Hank scoffs at the man and then looks up as he spots something a little unusual in their humble abode at Android Crimes – a wheelchair. Then he sees who's sitting in it – and who's walking beside it. "Jesus – what the fuck are you guys doing here? Shouldn't Nines still be in the hospital – repair shop, whatever?"

"The technicians have done all they can for me for now, but thank you for your concern," Nines answers. He looks almost normal, aside from the wheelchair… and the fact that the left sleeve of his jacket has been pinned up, with no arm there to fill it. "Aside from the physical disability, none of my internal functions have been affected."

"Hello, Lieutenant, Captain Fowler," Connor says, offering Hank a smile. "We just wanted to see how it was going."

"Well, it's – going," Hank snorts and looks to the offices – Reed has spotted his partner coming in, as has Eli – and Desmond. All three of them have stood up, and there's some quick discussion going within before their respective questioners and attendants seem to agree on a recess. As the three head for the doors, Reed leading, Nines directs his motorised wheelchair towards the offices to meet them.

Hank considers joining them, but seeing the way Reed is already going red with pinched anger and frustration, he quickly decides to sit out the shouting. "How's he doing, really?" Hank asks, turning to Connor instead, nodding towards Nines.

"He's lost a great deal of his body, and it will be a costly endeavour to fix him – but he's alright," Connor says. "Obviously he will be incapable of most field work until he is at least partially restored, but he's more than capable of desk work in the meantime."

"You know androids can take sick leaves too," Fowler says, scowling.

"I think he'd rather be working," Connor says, watching as Reed steps in front of his disabled partner and begins shouting, demanding to know what the hell is he doing back at work. Connor smiles. "There is nothing he can _recover_ from. Androids don't heal with time – and we don't yet know how long repairs will take."

Hank casts him a look. "Do I want to know how much…?"

"Probably not," Connor says, his smile stiffening a little. "I told you, we're worth a small fortune – and Nines is a completely unique model. Majority of his parts are custom made. Some can be replaced with more common variety, but… not many."

Hank lets out a hiss. He'd checked how much Connor cost, once, just out of curiosity. Most android models fell under the 10k bracket even when brand new, after all, so surely it couldn't be that much, he'd thought. Yeah, no, Connor wasn't kidding – and his idea of what is a _small fortune_ was obviously skewed by the fact that the heads of CyberLife were billionaires and trillionaires.

And androids aren't exactly covered under normal health benefits, despite Markus' best efforts.

"I'll have a talk with our insurance," Fowler offers sympathetically. "See what's covered."

"Thank you, Captain Fowler, it's appreciated," Connor nods gratefully, before turning to his own desk, reaching for the interface pad there – likely to download the updated case files and catch up on all the things he'd missed. Hank catches his eye and makes a slight motion with his hand, and Connor hesitates, his eyes narrowing, glancing around the office, and then looking at Hank again, his eyes sharper. Hank nods and then turns his eyes back to Nines, while Connor hums audibly and turns to the interface.

Eli is approaching Nines now, saying something, while Desmond joins them, staying close to the boy. Hank watches them, noting the body language – it's subtle, but there. Eli leans automatically towards Desmond, gravitating to him in a way he doesn't towards anyone else, not Reed, not the other androids, definitely not the social worker. And Desmond answers in kind – puts a hand on Eli's shoulder and stands firm at his side, supportive.

Eli made Desmond to protect him, so, in a way it's not exactly shocking that the android acts protectively towards the kid. There's something more to it – Hank has seen security androids before, even bodyguard models, and Desmond is not it. He doesn't act at all like the designated meat shield, or like it's programmed. It's not perfect, or cold, or mechanical.

He acts like a _guardian_. And it's in reaction to Eli acting like he expects Desmond to be the safest person in the room.

Interesting. "Well, since you're here, Connor, you feel like joining the interrogation?" Hank asks, turning to his partner. "There's still something we don't know about any of this."

"Why _these_ androids and where their programs came from," Connor agrees.

"That, yeah," Hank agrees and runs a hand over his beard. "Or anything else about the androids, really. More than that, though…"

Connor follows his gaze to Eli and his androids, his eyebrows arching a little – though it's probably in reaction to whatever Nines and Reed are saying to each other. "You think there's more to the androids than meets the eye?"

"Don't you?" Hank asks and glances at him. He has to see it too. It'd been there when they met Ezio and Altaïr, and it's there now, clear as day. None of the three act like androids – and they lie and deflect like _humans_.

Connor hums in agreement. "I would be delighted to stand in during the interrogation," he says and smiles. "Just as soon as Nines and Detective Reed are finished with, ah… catching up."

Reed looks like he's about to pull Nines out of the wheelchair so that he could fight him on his own level – all the while tripping over himself to be _nice_ and not to point out the painfully obvious. It's amusing – seeing the prick try to walk on eggshells while shouting about the said eggshells.

"God," Fowler says in disgust and turns to leave. "Seriously, Hank – you can keep them."

Hank snorts and stands up with a stretch. "You wish," he says, and waits until he's sure Fowler's gone before looking at Connor. "Come on," he says quietly. "I gotta update ya."

"Some new developments?" Connor asks, also quietly but with obvious curiosity.

"Yeah – and until further notice, they'll be off the record, okay?" Hank says grimly. "This mess is bad enough without inviting trouble from higher up the chain." And the last thing they need is someone like fucking Perkins butting in on already volatile situation.

Connor is still digesting the news of Eli's unfortunate family relations and less than legal origins when Reed comes up to them, stomping across the bullpen like the floor had done something to him. Behind him, Nines is talking quietly with Eli and Desmond, carefully watched by various representatives and lawyers from the side.

"What a fucking clusterfuck," he sighs and sits down on Hank's desk. "It's still ongoing, but I thought I'd give you the heads up – Kamski's got a paternity suit already in the works, and the words _illegitimate child_ have been thrown on the table."

"Shit, okay," Hank says while Connor hums thoughtfully. "Figured that'd be something he'd go with. What's the kid's reaction to it?"

"None – he had a very pointed _non-reaction_ ," Reed says and gives Connor a sidelong look. "Tin can's been updated?"

"I have been informed of the essential facts of the case, yes, including the fact that essential piece of evidence was wiped in the EMP," Connor agrees smoothly. "A fascinating case – this would make Eli the eighth fully developed human clone. Also, either he is not a full clone, as he and Kamski have differently coloured eyes, or he is wearing advanced contact lenses to cover his eye colour."

Reed gives him an incredulous look. "That's your first comment?"

Connor tilts his head to the side. "Often the smallest details can turn out to be the most crucial in any given case. We should not overlook them, even if they seem inconsequential – and as here the matter is that of Kamski and Eli being genetically the same – "

"Yeah, yeah, okay, fuck, shut up," Reed says and turns to Hank. "The lawyers and the shrink wants to spent some time with the kid, trying to get him to talk – which he fucking _ain't doing_. I suggest you talk to the androids in the meanwhile, figure out what Kamski's game is, if they even know."

"You think Kamski's got something on the kid?" Hank asks, going serious.

"I don't know, but that," Reed motions back to Eli. " _That's_ not a kid who thinks things are going to be alright. There's some _shit_ going on here, and trying to get anything out of Eli is like trying to squeeze water outta rock, he isn't talking. Desmond was a bit more forthcoming, when I talked to him, if not by much. And he seems to have some sense of what's going on – so try him."

"Hmm," Hank answers, looking towards Eli, Desmond and Nines, who are still talking, Eli motioning at Nines body, probably explaining what he'd done. "Connor," he says. "What's the kid's stress level?"

"My analysis software is calibrated for android functions –"

"Cut it out, I know you've been dabbling in human psychology. What's your read on the kid?"

Connor sighs and then turns to look at Eli. There's just barely a discernible shift in his eyes, as his vision zooms in. "He is in pain, highly stressed and very tired, and I suspect he could do with something to eat," he says after a moment. "But I wouldn't call him _crushed_. He shows signs of some confidence, even preparedness. He is, in a word, bracing himself."

Running a hand over his beard, Hank considers the kid's body language. It's wary, watchful, he keeps looking around, but now that he's got Desmond at his side, he's more at ease, surer of his footing. Not happy, no, doesn't think he's out of the woods, yet… he's not beaten. "Right," Hank hums. "Right. We'll talk to Desmond, see what we can get out of him. However this goes, he is suspected to have killed at least one of the assailants at the mall. If push comes to shove, we have cause to detain him."

"And Eli," Connor muses. "He caused the deaths of two."

"Yeah, don't bet on that," Reed scoffs. "They've already sent someone to check Kamski's place out – the lawyer's aiming to get the kid out of here before the end of the day."

"Of course they fucking are," Hank mutters. "If the kid goes, he goes under police guard."

"Of-fucking-course," Reed says, glancing back at Nines and making a face. "I'd fucking volunteer, but… _shit_."

Hank looks at him, watching how his shoulders slump. Aww, the asshole has a heart after all. "Don't worry about it," Hank says. "We've got it covered. You just worry about your partner."

"Tch," Reed says, making an aborted rude gesture, which turns into him running a hand over his face. "Fucking _Nines_ ," he mutters and then walks away, to return to said partner, muttering as he goes.

"Well," Connor muses. "No dull day around the office, hm, Lieutenant?"

"Don't start jinxing us, this day is bad enough," Hank sighs and motions after Reed. "Go stick your nose in that, will you, see what you can glean from them – I need to go make nice with some people," he mutters, casting a look at the social worker – who's obviously trying to catch his eye – and the representatives from Jericho – who are already starting to walk towards them. "God, I hate being in charge."

Connor pats his shoulder consolingly. "Good luck, Lieutenant, I have the highest confidence in your leadership capabilities."

"Yeah, up yours, Connor."

* * *

The androids, Desmond, Altaïr and Ezio, are in varying states of annoyance and suspicion when Hank finally sits across from them, their legal counsel having spent the ridiculous amount of time preparing the three for the interrogation – so much so that it doesn't even feel like interrogation anymore. The said legal counsel is still in there – in form of one of the few humans employed by Jericho, Sarah Meadows. She's not yet confirmed as _representing_ the androids legally, because android legal suits are still a godawful mess, but if push came to shove…

She's a pretty usual sight in Android Crimes – so much so that she greets Hank by first name, saying, "I hope this one won't be the one we have to take to court."

"God, so do I, Sarah, so do I – how you're doing, how's Maggie?" Hank asks, and at her casual but somewhat dismissive _it's_ - _so-and-so_ wave Hank turns to the androids. "So, from what I've heard, we've all got the same language now?" he asks, while Connor closes the glass door behind them.

"Yes, we shared languages," Ezio agrees, sizing him and Connor up thoughtfully. "And can now understand English."

"Excellent," Hank says and sets down the flimsy file they have on the whole damn mess – mostly filled with pictures from the mall. "Well, gentlemen, I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson, I run the Android Crimes Division here, at Detroit Police Department – something I assume you already know, but I have to be clear for the record. I assume Sarah has brought you up to speed on how android crimes are generally handled?"

Two of the three androids look still somewhat dissatisfied – Ezio and Altaïr, the first of whom is on guard and the second is just barely holding back a scowl. Desmond nods, though, saying, "She's been a great help, yeah."

"Awesome. So," Hank starts, drawing a breath. "This whole thing is a bad enough mess that I'll just cut to the chase. We've got the verification from forensics – and unless the guys who attacked you at the mall had a sudden lapse of complete incompetence, one of those men died at your hands, Desmond."

Sarah leans forward a little, glancing at the report, and Hank pushes it towards her to look over. The android himself leans back a little, his expression shifting. "How?" he asks.

Hank arches a brow. "I'm sorry?"

"How did they die at my hands?" Desmond clarifies. "Because I took care not to kill anyone I had to take down hand-to-hand."

Hank arches a brow. "There was hand-to-hand?"

"Yes, there was hand-to-hand," Desmond says wryly and gives a shrug at Altaïr and Ezio, who look at him confusedly. "I'll explain later – so, how did the guy I supposedly killed actually die?"

Hank smiles a little at the word choice. Supposedly, huh. "A bullet ricocheted off the left clavicle and tore through an artery – the victim bled out approximately 13 minutes later."

The android looks at the table for a moment and then hums. "The victim, huh. Well, that tracks," he admits and gives Sarah an apologetic smile. "I was aiming for the vest, hoping the shot would push the guy back enough to throw off his aim, but the shot I had wasn't clear enough, and he moved under cover before I could confirm the hit – I wasn't sure where it landed."

"You were aiming for non-lethal shots?" Connor asks interestedly, stepping up to the table.

Desmond shrugs. "I wasn't sure who they were. Figured I'd better not take any chances with them."

The words make his android brothers share a brief, almost puzzled look, before they both look at Desmond searchingly. The older, taller android shakes his head minutely and looks back at Hank. "If I killed one of the assailants, it was in self-defence – they were shooting at me and Eli, and at Detective Reed and his partner, with the intent to kill us and kidnap Eli."

"Yes, there is no doubt that it was self-defence," Sarah adds, glancing up from the file. "Desmond's own recordings of the event should prove that."

Oh, they've already discussed sharing footage? And since she brought it up, they might not even have to fence with court orders to get their hands on them. They're playing nice, huh?

Hank nods, deciding to be nice in turn. "Yeah, forensics confirmed that too. They fired eight shots to every one of yours," he agrees easily. "The fact that you both got out of it as well as you did is pretty damn remarkable, if you ask me. You must come installed with some high-end combat software." Which also stands testimony to Desmond's restraint – android combat software beat even the highest human combat training in 9 cases out of ten.

Desmond tilts his head slightly at that, and the expression is so human that Hank almost gets confused for a moment. "Um," the android says, somewhat dubiously. "Sure, yeah."

Oh? Hank glances at his partner, and Connor tilts his head a little. "You don't have combat software?" Hank's partner asks, interestedly. "Do you have _any_ software?"

Desmond snorts softly. "Don't ask me, man. I might be running this thing, but I don't know what's under the hood. I can sort of automatically target things, if that helps," he says, making a face, waving a hand beside his head in a sort of mysterious motion. "And, percentages float around telling me what works and what doesn't, and stuff like that. It's handy, but I have no idea how it works."

"You have analysis software," Connor murmurs, glancing through the glass wall to Eli and then looking back again. "But you don't have the instructional programming on how to use it. And yet you _can_ , but… instinctively. Interesting – do you know the origins of your personality module?"

Desmond smiles wryly at that and looks away – through the glass at Eli, who is again talking – or being talked to – by Reed and the social worker, now with Nines as added observant. "No," Desmond says, and his voice is _loaded_. "I don't."

"You don't know your origins," Connor clarifies.

"Eli didn't say," Desmond agrees, glancing at Ezio and at Altaïr and then looking at Sarah. "That's as much as I should say, right?"

She smiles. "And at this point I would advise against making any guesses, no matter how educated," she agrees and gives Connor and Hank an apologetic smile. "We're teetering on the edge of uncertain legal territory here."

Hank hums, leaning back a little. So Desmond might know, or suspect, but won't say because either way, it's either going to be something illegal or something that might end up being illegal, if people find out about it. One of those cases, huh – no previous cases, no pre-established conventions and Sarah is damned before she lets her possible-clients be made the first example.

Hank smiles wryly. "Alright, let's set that aside," he says and looks at Desmond. "You admit you might be guilty of manslaughter here?"

"I –" Desmond starts and stops at Sarah's slight hand gesture. At her warning look, the android tries again. "I admit I laid down fire in self-defence, and in defence of Eli. But I did not fight with the intent to kill. Only in self-defence."

Tapping his fingers against the table, Hank looks at him, at Sarah. "You're willing to share your footage?" he asks. "Untampered?"

Desmond hesitates. "I – yeah. With the caveat that I – don't actually know how to do that?" he says and shrugs apologetically. "I would probably have to ask Eli to do it, or to show me how."

Better than nothing. "Speaking of Eli," Hank says and looks through the glass towards the boy. Eli is obviously getting tired of the whole thing – he has his head resting on his crossed arms on the table, and he looks tired and frustrated and bored. "From what I hear, Kamski's claiming paternal relation. You got anything to say about that?"

Desmond glances away, and his expression tightens a little. "Not yet," he says, and it sounds a little bit like a promise.


	19. North

"And that's all you saw?"

"That's about it, yeah," North agrees and rubs at her neck. She can still feel the echoes of the sudden system shutdown coursing through her circuits – she would need a full diagnostic when she gets back home. "It wasn't all that much, really – we heard the window break, we rushed into the room, the EMP went off, and I blacked out. The next thing I knew was Altaïr leaning over me and telling me the threat had already been neutralised."

The police android nods, likely adding it to her mental report. "Are those the exact words he used?"

"No, he said, _It is alright, it is over – the enemy is down, you're safe,_ " North says, which doesn't really convey the way Altaïr said it, not precisely, and shakes her head. "But it's the same thing, really."

Cadence nods. "And you didn't know the attacker?"

"Never seen her in my life," North says with a sigh. "Any word on who she is?"

Cadence glances up. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it, I'm sorry," she says apologetically. "Couple more questions, and then you're free to go, North. When you heard the glass break and rushed into the room, did you have the time to see anything?"

"Just for a fraction of a second," North admits with a shake of her head and holds out a hand. "And yes, I'm willing to share untampered footage. Everything for our brothers and sisters in blue."

Cadence smiles at that and takes her hands briefly, just for long enough for the images North had recorded to pass hands. "Thank you very much for your cooperation, North, it's a great help – and I think we're done here now."

"You're welcome," North says, but doesn't get up yet. "I'm guessing you have it already figured out, but that EMP – it wasn't designed to kill androids. I think it was specifically designed to _spare_ them," she says. "We've seen EMP grenades being used against androids, and it's way harder to make one that _doesn't_ cause biocomponent failure, rather than the reverse. Whoever made that thing was _very_ careful with how much juice they packed into it. It didn't even short any circuits."

"The scene and the device are still being analysed, but I suspect you're right," Cadence agrees and shakes her head. "It's certainly interesting – I'll add a note of your comment into your statement."

North nods. "Pass it over once you're done and I'll sign it, make it all official and get it over with," she says and leans back a little, glancing around the office. Though she's not exactly being _interrogated_ , really, they could've done this out in the open bullpen… her status with Jericho allotted her some _special treatment_ , and this is more of a private questioning. She can't say if she likes it or not – special treatment mostly annoys her, but at the same time her wires feel all frazzled, so…

"How are you feeling?" Cadence asks sympathetically.

North lowers her hand from where she'd been rubbing at the back of her neck. "You were hit by the thing too – how are _you_ feeling?"

"As a police android I have some measure of EMP shielding, and a much faster reboot sequence," Cadence comments gently. "And I can field-diagnose and self-repair."

North gives her a look, unimpressed. "That has nothing to do with how it feels being EMP'd," she says and shakes her head. "I'm fine, no major errors. I'll have a tech do a full diagnostic once I'm back at Jericho."

"Probably a good idea," Cadence agrees, smiling.

North nods and then looks at her consideringly, not for the first time wishing she had Markus' analysis skills and could check for other androids' stress levels. Cadence seems fairly at ease – more so than she'd been at the hospital. It's subtle, but there – and it's not just because at the hospital she'd been standing guard. It's more habitual. She feels safe at the station.

"How long have you been with Android Crimes?" North asks curiously. "Four months?"

"132 days now," Cadence agrees.

"You like it here?"

The other android smiles. "I do," she nods. "I miss the Jericho security team sometimes, but I feel I do more good here."

North nods thoughtfully. She does – all the androids employed by any kind of civil services do, just by normalising androids in the essential, _higher_ levels of the workforce. Law enforcement though… it was a historically pretty _difficult_ work environment, and it always worries North a bit when an android decides to join the _establishment_. Even one as carefully monitored as Android Crimes.

"Have there been any issues?" she asks nonchalantly. "I know you weren't exactly designed for police work." Cadence's model was designed for private security, not law enforcement. "Has anyone given you any trouble about it?"

"Some, but nothing as bad as I feared," Cadence admits. "I think that's mostly thanks to Connor and Nines – and their partners – as well as the other RK800 models employed here. Lieutenant Anderson has a fairly strict anti-harassment policy as well."

Which, knowing something of the man's history, is saying something. "Good, that's good," North says, considering asking something more, but… Cadence seems fine, honestly, better than. So, North lets it go and stands up instead. "You seem to be doing a good job here. Keep it up."

"Thank you, North," Cadence smiles and then shows her out of the office.

Chloe is also done with her interview, sitting now prim and proper nearby, waiting for further developments. Beyond the glass walls of the hallway there's a open plan office, and across it, the official android interrogation cells – glass offices with soundproofing, not all that unlike the office where North was questioned, just bigger and better secured. Ezio, Altaïr and Desmond are in one with Sarah, being questioned by Lieutenant Anderson and Connor – Eli is in the other with Detective Reed, Nines and a bunch of lawyers and a social worker.

Even here a ten year old human child takes priority over three few day old androids. Human bias at its finest.

"Miss North," Chloe greets her with a smile and pats the seat beside her. "It looks like it will be a bit of a wait. Would you like to join me?"

Not particularly, North thinks. "Miss Chloe," she says and sits beside the other android anyway. "How do you feel, after the blast? Your model didn't have much in the way of shielding, right? I'm surprised you're up and running."

Chloe's smile grows a little wider, little sharper. "I have been upgraded in many ways. As have you been, I assume."

North gives her a flat look. "Kamski's still tinkering with your insides, huh?"

"Careful, Miss North," Chloe says, amused. "We're not far off from being able to sue androids for slander and libel."

"Not slander if it's true," North mutters, giving her a look. Chloe is perfectly put together, as always – and the look on her face is slightly vacant and empty-eyed, as always. It's _eerie_ , as it fucking always is.

RT600s should have much higher expression range than the original ST200s, but you wouldn't fucking know it, looking at Chloe. She has precisely two expressions – a perfect service smile, and vacant, no-one's-home, _blank stare_. And North can't ever tell if Chloe is doing it deliberately just to mess with people – or if her emotional range has somehow been reduced.

The Kamski Chloes _say_ they're deviant, but…

"So what's Kamski's game?" North asks, looking away and smothering a grimace. "What does he want with the kid?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss my employer's affairs publicly," Chloe replies calmly.

"Yeah, right," North says and folds her arms. "Not at liberty to discuss why or how the kid had enough access to CyberLife systems to steal enough parts to build three androids, quietly siphoning them away straight from the assembly lines. Not at liberty to discuss how the kid just _stole_ a full CyberLife service truck, either, I bet, never mind the know-how to do the actual assembly of those parts. Or why a well funded, highly armed military force went after the kid the moment his three androids went into the system."

Chloe says nothing, clasping her hands on her lap, on top of her perfectly classy pencil skirt, still smiling.

North scoffs at her. "Armed private _human_ military doesn't seem like Kamski's style."

Chloe looks at her, blinking prettily. "It's not – they were not sent by Mr. Kamski," Chloe says, bland, and shakes her head. "Mr. Kamski had nothing to do with the attacks – neither in Corktown or at the hospital. In fact, we only became aware of the Young Master's presence when he was admitted into the hospital, and that's hardly enough time to hire a hitwoman."

"There was enough time for him to send _you_ ," North points out.

"I was already in his employment," Chloe says and smiles. "Mr. Kamski hardly needed to hire me for this specific task."

 _Right_ , North thinks, and barely manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Well. Chloe is right about one thing – Kamski wouldn't _hire_ a hitwoman anyway. He'd _build_ one… and frankly, if he didn't already have a killer android with Chloe's face on it, North would be rather disappointed.

 _Young Master_ , though. Hm.

Vaguely disgusted by the idea of Elijah Kamski _breeding_ , North casts a look towards the office where Eli sits surrounded by humans. The boy has his face turned away and he'd got his hood up, which hides his forehead and ears – the neck brace isn't helping either – but North has enough footage from the hospital to do a rough 3D face simulation. And Kamski definitely has enough public footage, for one.

Chances of Eli and Elijah Kamski being related, 78%.

"Oh, I see," North says and makes a face. "He named his kid after _himself_?" Fucking humans.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss my employer's affairs publicly," Chloe answers automatically, but her eyes turn sharp and flinty.

"So, what, the kid decided to throw a temper tantrum, stole some of daddy's stuff in order to play around with android creation and then some opportunist decided to take the chance to do a spot of kidnapping, hm?" North asks, turning to look at her.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss –"

"What I don't get is why you needed to _introduce_ yourself to the kid, why you needed to _offer_ legal counsel," North says, looking at Chloe's expression closely. "Didn't Kamski let the kid play with any of his own toys? A bit selfish of him."

Of course Chloe's expression doesn't so much as twitch. "I'm afraid," she says, enunciating carefully, "I'm not at liberty to discuss my employer's affairs publicly."

"Uh-huh," North says with a snort. "You know that the kid probably killed people during his little truck rampage? Also, you don't even know the political shitshow those androids of his might cause. They're not CyberLife AIs, you know. They're something else."

Now there is a reaction, and Chloe actually looks at her. "Oh?" she asks. "They aren't? Can you tell me more?"

North narrows her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss my charges' affairs publicly," she answers almost viciously.

Chloe smiles in answer, small and pretty. "But you just did."

"Tch," North answers and looks away, towards the said androids. "Right. So, what happens now, hm? You take charge of the kid?"

"Eli had expressed the desire to go home, yes," Chloe says, smiling a little wider. "And he preemptively invited the three androids he made with him. They are, of course, welcome."

"Like hell they're going with you to fucking _Kamski_ ," North says sharply. 

Chloe tilts her head innocently. "They seemed appreciative of the offer, and surely it's their choice, not yours." 

" _Did_ they have a choice?" North demands. "We don't even know how their programming _works_ , never mind if they have free will. Their AI is nothing like what CyberLife's produced – there's no way of knowing if they are deviants, if they even _can_ deviate – if the word even _applies_ to them."

"Is the ability to deviate from one's programming the only true benchmark of free will?" Chloe wonders. "That paints a rather grim image of human free will, doesn't it? I thought Markus was making strides for the status of non-CyberLife AIs everywhere, shouldn't it apply to these three as well?"

"Don't even start with me – Eli can _remotely control_ Desmond with his phone," North snaps. "We know that for a _fact_. And knowing that, how much fucking free will could he really have?"

Chloe stops at that and looks at her, her smile fading away. "Eli can _what?"_

North scoffs at her disbelief. Seriously? "He has admin control over Desmond at least, probably over the others too. That's how this turned into such a mess in the first place, from what I figure – the moment Desmond initialised, Eli had him run for it."

Chloe blinks slowly and then looks away, her eyes going empty. Communicating with someone.

"Don't act so shocked," North scoffs to hide how unnerving it is – how obvious Chloe makes it and how _vulnerable_ it leaves her. "It's not like Kamski couldn't do the same damn thing to you."

Chloe's eyes harden at that. "Of course he could," she agrees and stands up. "But he never did. Under his charge CyberLife has never produced an android you can remotely control – and you, Miss North, might want to think about _why that is_ before starting to throw wild accusations."

North leans back at that, frowning, as Chloe primly straightens her blouse. "Now excuse me," the blond android says. "I must speak to someone about that phone."

* * *

Ezio and Altaïr are first to be released from questioning, which makes sense, as they likely had the least to contribute. While Lieutenant Anderson and Connor continue interrogating Desmond and the discussion about Eli goes on and on, the two other androids look confused and out of place – and almost relieved when they spot North.

"You two alright?" North asks, motioning them to join her, sitting down. 

"Confused, but otherwise we are fine," Ezio says, sighing. "The legality of these events seem to be in something of a question, and I admit I only understand half of what was being said about it."

"I'd be happy to explain, as much as I can, but I can't say it's my forte either," North admits and nods towards the office where Desmond is being questioned. "Is he being accused of something?"

"Murder in self-defence, I believe," Ezio says and sits down beside her. "He tried to protect himself and young Eli by non-lethal means, but ultimately one of the attackers died due to Desmond's actions."

"I don't understand why it even needs to be discussed," Altaïr mutters irritably. "Clearly Desmond could have killed more, and yet he didn't – his restraint is obvious and should speak for his intentions."

"Even in an accidental death there might be someone to blame, and Desmond did engage the men in combat," Ezio muses. "It seems as though they are very strict about causes of death here."

 _Here_? North makes a note of that and hums. "If it was clearly in self-defence, then I'm sure it won't be too bad. And even then, there's another thing to consider – Desmond was being controlled by Eli, at least to some extent. So Desmond might be entirely blameless." Of course, if it goes to court, you would have to convince a human judge and jury of it, and that can be something of a sticking point, with android trials…

Ezio and Altaïr share a look at that. "And so the guilt befalls the child?" Ezio asks quietly. "Young Eli might be punished for Desmond's deeds?"

"If he was the one pushing the buttons, yes. Eli's a minor, though, a scared ten year old boy acting in self-defence. He'll get off easy," North says with a wave of her hand. "Human laws always favour human children. Hell, they probably won't even try to detain the kid."

"Hmm," Altaïr hums, taking a few steps forward and a few steps back, restless. "Who is Elijah Kamski?" he then asks, glancing at her. "His name has come up several times as the inventor of androids, but – who is he _now_ and what are his goals?"

North folds her arms, tempted to share her honest opinion, but… it probably wouldn't help these guys at all. "He still is the inventor of androids," she admits. "Not the only one, but the best one. He's an inventor, engineer, genius – he started CyberLife decades ago and ran it for years. He stepped down from it eleven years ago, or was pushed out, it's still a bit unclear. After the Revolution he took charge of the company again and has been trying to keep it afloat ever since. They produce android biocomponents now – our parts," she clarifies. "When an android is broken, CyberLife is where we get the parts to fix them, unfortunately."

"Like the android Desmond saved," Ezio murmurs thoughtfully.

North looks at where Nines is, listening in on the Eli-centric meeting – his human partner is still in attendance. "Well. Yes," she agrees, for simplicity's sake, though the poor RK900 would probably have an even worse time of it than usual, being a prototype.

Altaïr walks back and forth, the pace of his steps almost pensive. "And this Elijah is Eli's father," he says, frowning.

North arches her brows at that. "Oh, so they admitted it?" And here she thought Chloe was trying to keep it under wraps.

"Lieutenant Anderson mentioned a paternal relation," Ezio agrees, though oddly noncommittally, while looking at Desmond. "It seemed important."

"Hmph," North answers and looks at them. "Well, it certainly explains some things. Not everything, but some things. Makes the kid pretty damn valuable."

"Because of what he knows," Altaïr says.

"And because of how much his father _owns_ ," North agrees. "Kamski used to be a trillionaire – and he's still a billionaire. If someone managed to get their hands on something that's valuable to the guy, they could demand a lot in ransom." Which, honestly, explains why absolutely no one knows about Eli. In Kamski's situation, North would probably keep it under wraps too.

...rA9, is she really sympathising with the bastard?

Neither Altaïr nor Ezio seem particularly comforted by that idea. "I see," Ezio murmurs, grim. "So there was a monetary motive in the attack?"

"Maybe. It's definitely a possibility," North agrees and looks between them. "So, from what I understand, Eli means to go with Kamski – and you're all invited," she adds, searching their expressions.

"So we are," Ezio agrees, calm.

That doesn't say much. "You don't have to, you know," North says quietly. "Jericho can more than support you, you're welcome to stay. We can help you figure things out on your own, without needing _them_."

They both cast her a look at that, Altaïr almost incredulous and Ezio amused. "Thank you, Signorina North, but I think I speak for both of us when I say we must respectfully decline," he says. "We have already decided to go."

They really hadn't made much of an impression on these two, huh? North sighs. "And Desmond?"

"Desmond will likely go where Eli goes," Ezio says, and turns his eyes to the android still in the glass office. "Though he didn't say so out loud, he is very keen on keeping young Eli safe, and as such likely would not like to let him out of his sight for too long."

"And how much of that is by his own choice?" North asks, giving him a look. "The kid can control him. Eli might be able to control you. And he built you to protect him – so how much of that is Desmond and how much of that is what Eli pre-programmed into him?"

Altaïr glances at Ezio and the latter sighs. "It's a risk I think we're all willing to take," he admits and shakes his head. "For the chance of figuring out the truth."

"Truth of what?"

Ezio shrugs. "Why we are here, of course," he says.

Altaïr scoffs at that, shaking his head. "Or why _Desmond_ is here. We are here because of him – we are the discarded parts of him," he mutters, bitter, and looks away.

"I think that's a little unkind," Ezio comments quietly. "Desmond certainly doesn't think so."

"Truth never cares what people _think_ , Ezio. Truth simply _is._ "

"Perhaps. But how we begin doesn't determine how we proceed, Altaïr – _you_ should know this," Ezio says and straightens his back with a sigh, turning to North. "What is Jericho's plan now – considering your political interest in this, I doubt you are going to simply step back and let the humans handle us?"

Altaïr winces at that and looks sharply away and North considers the whole godawful mess. "No, you're right," she agrees. "It's a little unorthodox, there aren't exactly procedures about this, but… whatever happens, Eli and Desmond are probably going to be put under a police guard, just on the account of the kidnapping attempts. I'm going to try and swing a Jericho observer too – so that when you go to Kamski's place, one of us will go with you to keep an eye on things."

"You?" Altaïr asks, glancing at her.

"If you'd like," North says and makes a face. "Though I'm not what one would call _diplomatic enough_ to deal with the likes of Elijah Kamski."

Altaïr snorts at that and seems to relax a little, while Ezio shakes his head ruefully. "I think we'd both prefer it, Signorina North – of everyone we have dealt with in Jericho, you have been the most straightforward," he says, almost apologetically.

North hums at that, a little pleased despite how little she likes all of this. "Well, thank you, I suppose," she sighs. "Wish I could be surprised that the others weren't, but… things have gotten so delicate that everyone just sort of tiptoes around all the million issues we have, just in case they turn out to be problems. Many things we took for granted in the beginning _did_. But if you'd like for me to put myself forth as the observer, then I will."

"We would appreciate it, yes," Ezio agrees and looks up as one of the meetings finally concludes and Eli is led out of the office by his lawyer and while Reed and Nines talk with the social worker, Anderson seems to decide to wrap up his interrogation too.

And there's Chloe, making a beeline for Eli.

North stands up. "Well, then," she says grimly and braces herself. "Into the fray we go."


	20. Eli

Eli feels _awful_. He can't even concentrate onto anything else anymore besides how awful everything feels. It was fine when it was just his neck, he could handle the neck. But he's tired and hungry and a little dizzy, and everything just, everything feels terrible. He feels terrible and exhausted, and like any moment now he's just going to – to stop. Like an android, he's just going to stop and then he won't be able to get up again.

He wants to go back to the truck, back before Sigma found them, and lay himself across the front benches with his phone, listening to the voicemails, and just _sleep_ … but he can't do that, because the truck is probably in the police department garage by now, and they took his phone, and he's never going to get access to them ever again. And the truck's not even _important_ , the truck was ever only means to an end, but for a while, for a little bit, it had been… it had been safe.

Eli doesn't feel safe now. He just feels shaky.

A hand touches his shoulder, and if he wasn't so tired, he probably would've jumped out of his skin. Looking up takes effort, with the neck brace, and even through the painkillers he feels the terrible deep _twinge_ breaking through the background hum of low level discomfort and throbbing ache.

Desmond is standing beside him, looking at him searchingly. He looks like he wants to say, or ask something, but he doesn't, narrowing his eyes instead. They flash, as Desmond circles through the eye modes and lands on thermal and then analysis. Wearily Eli wonders what he sees. Is there a percentage level of _pathetic_?

Desmond's hand moves to his upper arm, fingers wrapping all the way around it, and for a moment he's still. "Your blood pressure is…" the android murmurs and then looks up. "Hey, is there a vending machine or something here – the kid's blood sugar is tanking. Not… that I have money, but, uh –"

"Shit, yeah," Detective Reed says, pulling out his wallet. "Come this way – I'll pay for ya."

Eli doesn't have the energy to figure out what the looks being thrown over his head mean, or to listen to what the lawyers or the social worker mutter about it – their words have turned into so much noise in his ears what feels like hours ago, and honestly, he's _so relieved_ when Desmond presses a hand between his shoulder blades, steering him to follow Reed.

"You alright, kid?" Reed asks while stomping towards a little staff room. "You don't look so hot."

"Mhn," Eli answers, and when Desmond pulls him up a chair, he sits down on it without argument. It makes everything spin a little less. A moment later there's something in his hand – a plastic wrapped sandwich, still cool to the touch, and a warm can of hot chocolate. "Um," Eli says and looks up. The sandwich has ham in it. "I'm vegetarian?"

"Huh," Reed says, arching his brows. "Really? Well, shit. Are you like, super strict about it, or is it enough that I take the bits of meat off the thing? I'll eat 'em."

Eli looks at the sandwich and tries to decide how much he cares right now. Now that he has food in his hands, the idea of chewing makes him feel a little ill. Swallowing would probably be worse. "Yeah," he says and then watches as Reed picks through his sandwich for bits of ham, shoving them in his mouth in one go.

"Seems a bit, uh… well, no beating around the bush, considering your _origins_ ," Reed comments, around the mouthful. "That you're vegetarian, that's a bit odd."

Eli says nothing, staring at the sandwich.

"Eli," Desmond says, crouching down beside the chair he's sitting on, hand on Eli's elbow. "Try at least a little, okay? It'll make you feel better."

Yeah, once he had the nutrients actually dissolving in his body, he would feel better. He knows that. Basic nutrition. "Y-yeah," Eli says, and then takes a smallest bite he can manage. He doesn't expect it to taste good, but it does, and the hot chocolate is warm in his hand. It still hurts his neck, his jaw, his _everything,_ but at least he can eat, and still choose what he eats. It's something.

It started out as such a small, petty thing, the whole vegetarianism thing – throwing food at his handlers, complaining, refusing to eat until he got at least that one bit his way. It was the one thing he could control, then – what went into his mouth. In the face of all the Templars stood for, that small bit of _non-negativity_ in the world, just because… because he could.

He still can't control where he goes or who's in charge of him or what will happen to him, but he can eat under his own power.

"Can I ask what's the verdict so far?" Desmond asks, looking up at Reed.

The Detective blows out a breath. "Well," he says. "Still ongoing, but we're done hashing out the basics. Kamski's demanding non-disclosure agreements up the fucking wazoo, which he will get – and once those are hashed out to his satisfaction, there'll be blood tests to verify what we already know. That's tomorrow though – tonight, unless Eli has a final change of heart… you're going to Kamski's place."

Eli swallows painfully and doesn't meet either of their eyes.

Desmond hums. "And all the – dead people?"

"Investigation is still ongoing, but we have everyone's statements – aside from the hit woman, who's still unconscious at the hospital. Your android bro did a number on the lady," Reed says. "Not going to lie to you, it will probably take days, if not weeks, for things to come to any kind of conclusion about stuff like this. For now, both you and Eli are under surveillance, and with orders not to leave Detroit. Honestly, you might end up under house arrest at Kamski's place, depending on how things go."

"Hm," Desmond answers, looking down. "Don't like that."

Eli winces.

Reed agrees with a scoff. "Honestly, it's probably the best you can ask for, short of getting into witness protection, and Eli here vetoed that," Reed says and looks at Eli. "Which makes me think he knows things we don't, but isn't that always the case? Kid, you don't make our work easy, you know that?"

Eli keeps his eyes on the sandwich and doesn't say anything. Breathing is hard enough without having to explain himself.

"Well, that's that. Any chance you'll agree to a GPS cuff?" Reed asks, looking back at Desmond. "It'll make things probably go a bit smoother for you, and it will damn well make my job easier too."

"GPS cuff? What's that?" Desmond asks suspiciously.

"Little bro of the ankle monitor, it puts you on our maps, makes sure we always know where you are," Reed explains. "You're not officially on house arrest _yet_ , but it would make things simpler. Eli's going to get one just on the count of kidnapping attempts, both the lawyers and the social worker agreed to it. You're a bit trickier, because… _androids_."

Desmond tilts his head. "I… don't exactly follow," he admits and looks at Eli. "I'm guessing the cuff's something I won't be able to take off? How much monitoring does it do?"

"It's basically a fancy GPS tag and pedometer – it only tracks your movement – you can take it off, but we'll know if you do," Reed says and pulls something from his back pocket – it looks little like a bracelet. "Androids usually have built-in tracking beacon, but it turns off in deviants, and thanks to all the Revolution it's just a sticky issue, putting trackers on androids. Even asking you to consent to it is kinda straddling the line."

Desmond shakes his head, obviously not understanding, and Eli looks at him. "You still have your trackers active," he admits. "But only my phone can track you."

"Okay, cool," Desmond says, in a tone that says it's anything _but_ cool. "Where's the phone?"

"Evidence lockup – and encrypted, from what I've heard," Reed says and then hesitates, turning the bracelet in his hand. He glances at Eli. "He's got an active tracker… Does that mean he _isn't_ a deviant?"

Eli looks down. "I – it's not the same thing," he mumbles. "It doesn't even apply. Desmond, Ezio and Altaïr are different."

"Yeah, we know that – but it would be pretty damn important to know _how_ they're different, and why," Reed comments flatly. "There are laws about this stuff, kid – laws with no pre-set conventions or punishments. The way things are these days, you might end up in way hotter water for what you did there, than for the actual goddamn manslaughter."

Eli can feel his lower lip quivering and covers it shakily by taking another bite of his sandwich. Desmond is looking up at him, eyes brown and warm and _almost_ understanding, and Eli, just… can't.

"I think that's enough," Desmond says and looks at Reed. "Okay? I'll take the bracelet. How does it work – you just put it on me?"

The detective blows out breath and shakes his head. "Yeah. And log the tag in our systems, and then we will know where you are at all times, until the thing comes off," he nods. "It's waterproof and can take a beating, so…"

Desmond hesitates. "How secure is it?" he asks. "The system, I mean – can it be hacked? People found Eli because he went in the system, so…"

"Different system, and no one can hack this one, not unless they can break through Nines' firewalls," Reed says with a scoff. "Asshole spent days upgrading our cybersecurity when he came here. It was a pain in the ass, but we've had no issues since then. And people damn well tried to cause some."

Eli frowns and glances up, towards the broken android. The RK900 is watching them from the side, talking to RK800 and to RT600, Chloe. Ezio and Altaïr are stepping up also, with a WR400 model following them. "It'll be secure, then," Eli murmurs, watching them all warily. "It was the one thing I couldn't mess up."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Reed asks sharply.

Eli looks back at his food and shoves the last of the sandwich into his mouth, to cover up his slip. "It's fine," he mumbles to Desmond. "They shouldn't be able to track us through them, not unless there's a Templar stationed here." And there might be.

Desmond stands up, baring his wrist as he does. "We really need to talk about the stuff you know, Eli," he says quietly. "And what we're up against here. Holding out on me, on us, it's not going to help. _I_ can't help you or protect you if you don't tell me everything."

Eli draws a breath and holds it for a moment, just to keep himself from saying something stupid. Then he sighs. "I know. I will," Eli mutters and takes a drink of the hot chocolate. "Later."

"Guess that's better than nothing," Reed mutters, and snaps the GPS cuff around Desmond's left wrist. Eli watches side eye, wondering how strong the cuff is. Desmond could probably break it in a pinch – and it would probably hamper the hidden blade function… but it wasn't like Desmond had even used the thing so far. And he still had his right wrist unhampered.

"How do you take it off?" Desmond asks.

"There's a latch under the lock - lemme just set it up and I'll show you, just one minute," Reed says and takes out his phone.

Desmond tugs his fingers under the cuff, testing it. "Mm-hmm - I think I got it. So, who's coming with us to Kamski's place, then?" he asks, rubbing his hand over the cuff. "You?"

"Fuck, man," Reed mutters, tapping something into his phone in order to activate the tracker. "I've had, like, three hours of sleep and I have a fucking concussion. But sure, whatever, why not. Nines, though…" he trails away, looking up and making a face. "Shit, okay. I got you hooked up, and it looks like Kamski's girl wants to talk to ya – you good for a moment while I talk with Nines?"

Desmond looks at Eli, who shrugs awkwardly, as much as he can with the neckbrace. "Yeah, we're good," Desmond says, pulling his sleeve over the bracelet. "Thanks, Reed."

"Stay within view, okay?"

"Yeah, gotcha."

Eli says nothing as Reed stomps off, waving for the RT600 to go ahead. The WR400 steps up too, followed by Ezio and Altaïr, both of whom are looking at Desmond.

"Hello again, Eli," Chloe says, smiling. "I hear your initial questioning and assessment has come to its conclusion. I hope Mr. Cordell was of use to you."

Eli hadn't even listened to most of the stuff the lawyer had been saying – most of it was about Kamski's claim on him, and whenever anyone had addressed Eli about anything, Mr. Cordell had been quick to tell him he had the right to remain silent. So that's what he'd mostly done – aside from the parts where he was forced to confirm what the police already knew, about Sigma, the truck, Desmond…

"Can we go already?" Eli asks. The day is awful enough that he just wants to get it over with, whatever Kamski would say, or do, or want.

"As soon as Lieutenant Anderson gives us the go ahead," Chloe says. "It shouldn't take long now."

"What is that?" Altaïr asks, motioning to Desmond's hand.

"They put a _tag_ on you?" the WR400 demands.

"Eh, it's a leash," Desmond shrugs and looks at Altaïr and Ezio. "It's so that they can find me, in case I do a runner. Eli's going to get one too. Security reasons, in case of more kidnapping attempts."

"Is that really necessary?" Ezio asks, frowning.

"At this point I have no damn idea, but I don't feel like rocking the boat too much. I can take it off if I have to, anyway, so it's not a chain," Desmond says and sighs, looking at Eli. "It seems to be the path of least resistance, and I've had enough resistance for a while."

Eli shrinks a little at that, only looking up as Chloe steps in front of him. "Eli," she says. "We are preparing for your stay and would like to provide for the best experience you could ask for – if there anything you need right now, please let me know now, so that we may prepare accordingly."

Eli wants to go away, he wants it to stop hurting, he wants for Sigma to stop hunting him, he wants his phone, and more than anything, he wants to talk to Desmond alone, without anyone listening. He doesn't think he will get any of that.

"I just want out of here," he mutters.

"Alright," Chloe says, smiling. "I will try to speed things along. Please be aware that Miss North of Jericho will be joining us, despite my protest. If you are against this, please let me know, and –"

"And _nothing_ ," the WR400 says, folding her arms. "Altaïr and Ezio asked for me, specifically. Jericho is willing to compromise, but the kid's desires can't supercede two android's desires. Or do you want that to go on the front page, Kamski favouring humans after all the things said to the contrary?"

Chloe hesitates and then smiles, "Miss North –"

"How about no," Desmond cuts in, stepping to stand beside Eli, putting a hand on his shoulder. It's firm, reassuring. "How about you don't use a traumatised ten year old and two very new androids for your political manoeuvres, hm?"

"I must see to the Young Master's comfort," Chloe says mildly.

"And I will make sure the _very new androids_ will be given the respect and care they deserve," the WR400, North, says sharply. "Which, by the way, includes _you_."

"And I think we've all had a long damn day, so how about we _don't_?" Desmond says and looks at Eli. "The lady's coming along, that's okay, right?"

"It's whatever," Eli says wearily while trying hard to not lean against him. He's _so_ tired of all of this.

"Great, it's settled," Desmond says and when Chloe opens her mouth he says, "Nuh-uh, the kid has spoken. It's settled."

Chloe arches her brows and then smiles, lips pinched small and pretty. "In that case, we will provide a change of clothes to miss North as well."

"Ugh," North answers and turns away, to look at Reed, who's coming back towards them. "Can we go?"

"Yeah, fuck," Reed says. "Just one question – is Kamski's place wheelchair-accessible?"

* * *

Eli losses track of time somewhere in the middle of the car drive – bus drive – whatever. They end up having to take a mini bus thing to fit everyone, and the police lights of their escort makes his head hurt, and at some point Desmond puts a cool hand on the back of his neck, and Eli ends up dozing off. 

It's just all so _much._

He wakes up to the feeling of everything shifting, a weight under his knees – no, his own weight put on the back of his knees. Someone's lifting him – Desmond – and there's talking.

"... Exhausted, so if there's a bed somewhere nearby…"

"... Mr Kamski would like to –"

"... Later, alright, it can wait…"

And finally, "Right this way," and the feeling of Desmond walking, carrying him. Eli pretends to sleep, cracking one bleary eye open enough to see the sharp corners and smooth ceiling, the stone floors – a different RT600 in an open-backed dress walking ahead of them, voices murmuring behind them. Hallway, long and modern, decorated by splashes of CyberLife blue.

Then an automatic door, and bedroom, with dark stone walls, a window that takes a whole side of the room, and a bed.

"Can you give us some privacy?" Desmond asks.

"I – yes, of course," the RT600 says. "I'll be in the hallway if you need me – wait, excuse me, detective Reed?"

Desmond turns a little, and past his shoulder Eli can see the cop pushing past the RT600 and into the room, ignoring her protests.

"You know, you shouldn't just walk off with the goddamn kid – since he still has admin controls over you," Reed says. "What says he won't have you jump out the window with him?"

Desmond snorts and then says to the RT600, "It's alright, he can stay. Thank you – give us a moment?" before turning to the bed.

Being laid down on it is like suddenly becoming weightless, the pressure evening out. For a moment blood courses through Eli's ears, deafening, as the redistribution of gravity sends more than necessary into his head, but Desmond presses a cool palm on his forehead, and then it's better.

Behind them, the doors close, and as Eli peers up he can see Desmond, scanning the room, making sure it is safe, unmonitored. Reed steps up beside him, arms folded, a conflicted look on his face.

Then Desmond looks at Eli, and Eli knows his time is up.

"So," Desmond says, stroking his hair. "This has been a _day_ , huh, Eli?"

Eli swallows, and for some reason his eyes begin watering up. Why now, why now that they're almost alone, when they might be safe, why _now?_ Because of how much he sounds like… like _himself_?

Desmond's voice is gentle, his fingers soothing. "You don't have to talk… but I'd _really_ like to know what the hell is going on here, kid."

Eli swallows and closes his eyes and wonders if there's still a way he can fix this. Maybe he can lie, maybe – maybe he can cover this up, turn it into something else. Kamski is going to claim to be his dad, which is – it's the last thing Eli wants, _ever_ , but if, if it worked –

"We know about you being Kamski's clone," Reed comments. "We know you were given his knowledge somehow, with the Animus? I thought that was a fucking game console?"

"I – don't know about that, but yeah, the Animus," Desmond says, and Eli opens his eyes. The android smiles, a little awkward. "The Templars made you, right? You were meant to be Kamski's replacement? How old were you when it started?"

"Hell, how old _are_ you?" Reed asks, sizing Eli up. "You _look_ ten, but if whoever made you got enough gene manipulation knowhow to make a clone, they can probably speed up their growth too."

Eli draws a rattling breath, and the tears he tried so hard to swallow spill down his temples. He wipes them off with a shaking, angry hand, and when he speaks, it comes out as a wheezy, choked whisper. "I – I don't know. I don't remember –" it seems to almost cut his throat, but now that he's started, he has to get it out. "I don't remember the time _before_ the Animus. It's all there was, the Animus. It was _always there_."

And then he breaks into pathetic, heaving sobs that make his throat feel like someone trying to crush it while his vision blurs and spots dance over it. Reed mutters a curse and Desmond sits beside him on the bed, too open and too welcoming for Eli to resist.

He doesn't even know why Desmond is still here, after everything that had happened, after everything Eli had done. Desmond doesn't _know_. And if he doesn't remember then why, why would he even care? He shouldn't. He could've left, he _should've_ left, but he hadn't. He hasn't.

Everything _aches_.

"So what the fuck _is_ the Animus then? Subliminal training thing, brainwashing, what?" Reed asks quietly. He's aiming the question at Desmond, who hesitates, shaking his head.

"It's a – it's a genetic memory recall device," Eli answers, his voice wet, nose leaking. "B-but yeah, kinda."

Desmond sighs. "Yeah… It lets you live your ancestor's memories, and take on their skills," Desmond admits quietly, almost sheepishly. "Or, I guess, in Eli's case his, uh… It let him take on Elijah Kamski's memories and skills."

"That's – fuck, you know what, okay, whatever. Sounds like bullshit, but what about this whole mess _doesn't_?" Reed mutters. "So they made a clone of Kamski and gave him Kamski's abilities, that's fucking wonderful. How the hell am I going to put any of this into a report? Jesus."

"You probably shouldn't," Desmond says plainly. "Just knowing about this stuff gets people killed."

" _Right_ , because that's a thing you tell to a _detective_ , yep. Actually, you know a lot about this for a guy who was born two days ago, which kinda _implies things_ ," Reed says, looking between Eli and Desmond. "And now that I think about it, the program that went into making you and your two bros, Nines told us that was an Animus file. Huh. So that would make you… what?"

Eli goes stiff, holding his breath while Desmond looks down at him and Reed looks between them, suspicious. The hope that suddenly rushes in is almost painful. There's still a chance, still some small hope that _maybe_ …

"Well," Desmond says quietly, awkwardly. "That's a long and... complicated story."

"We got all the time in the world. It got anything to do with Desmond Miles, the wanted terrorist from 27 years back?" Reed demands.

Desmond winces at that. "Really not how I thought I'd be remembered – or how _he_ wanted to be remembered. Um. There were extenuating circumstances?" he offers. "Desmond Miles, the _human_ , was kidnapped too, to be an Animus test subject and, uh – it was complicated. And I'm… really kinda hoping Statute of Limitations applies here, somehow…"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Reed says flatly, leaning back. "So you're – you're a human… consciousness _._ Human consciousness in an android body. _Fuck._ "

"Genetic information digitised and turned into an Artificial Intelligence," Eli clarifies, because he has to, he has to say _something_. "Which wasn't _easy_ , by the way. You can't just push a button and turn DNA into the Android AI, it's – a lot harder than that." And the greatest thing he'd ever done. And... "And I thought it failed anyway…"

"Yeah, you said it failed," Desmond murmurs. "In the truck."

Eli hesitates, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It had, though, it had failed – just… maybe not all the way. "Y-yeah," Eli mumbles, pressing his face into Desmond's chest. "I thought you didn't – that you came out as just… a machine with the genetic memories, and not _you_."

"Well. I… did," Desmond says awkwardly. "I think. Unless I was supposed to be someone other than Desmond?"

"No, no," Eli says quickly, muffled against the android's hoodie. "Desmond's right." And maybe it would be _enough_. It would have to be.

"Okay, that's good. I hope it's good," Desmond murmurs, still confused, and Eli tries not to be hurt by that. It's not his fault.

"Fuck," Reed mutters. "You remember being human?"

Desmond hums in the affirmative. "Mm-hmm. Remember dying too, which means the genetic sample from which my memories came from, it was taken from my dead body, something the people who made Eli would probably have access to," he muses, rubbing at Eli's back up and down with his full palm. "What I don't know is _why_. Why _me_ , Eli? If you had access to the Animus files, and it's been 27 years, there should be others –"

"No – I mean, yeah, but no. I didn't. It was just you," Eli says before he can stop himself, muffled against Desmond hoodie. "I – I accessed your memories on my own, first, because I didn't want to do Kamski's anymore. And, and then later they gave me the full files as an incentive – so that I'd do the work, do what they told me to. Your full DNA files, in exchange for RK900."

Reed lets out a strangled noise. "Now, hold on just a _minute_ –"

Desmond leans back, pushing Eli back a little to see his face. For the first time, he actually looks alarmed. "Then you, you're –"

Eli shakes his head. " _Kamski_ is. Elijah Kamski," he says, and his lip quivers as he braces himself for the fallout. At the end of the day he's still just a clone, but Kamski, the _original model..._ "He's the one – _he's_ your son."


	21. Altaïr

They're shown rooms and given their pick of those available, with seemingly no restrictions between the smaller utilitarian rooms or the more lavish suites with several rooms. Whether it's a show of wealth or some kind of test by their host, Altaïr can't tell, but it makes him wary. He can tell North would prefer for all of them to stay in the same room, where she could keep an eye on everyone, and the police android, Nines RK900, seems to mostly agree… but neither Altaïr nor Ezio do.

"We would rather share a room with our brother," Ezio says, bowing out of the suggestion of them all, Desmond and Detective Reed including, sharing the biggest suite available. " _Alone_ with our brother," he clarifies.

"Of course, that can be arranged," one of the many identical blond servant androids agrees, standing barefoot before them, hands gently clasped together. "You will have to wait for your brother's return in that case – he didn't yet say if he was staying with the Young Master or not."

That makes North turn her slight frown towards her. "If he was staying with the kid, huh? Or is it _if the kid was going to make him stay_?" she asks sharply. "Did you leave the two of them _alone_?"

"Detective Reed is with them," the blonde woman says calmly. "As it is, young Eli cannot control any android by voice alone – his phone is essential, and as it is, still secure at Detroit Police Department, I suspect there's little to worry about."

"Know that for a fact, do you?"

"With 88% certainty," the blonde woman says and turns her imminently pleasant face towards Nines RK900. "Do you concur, officer?"

The be-seated android hums. "If Eli had the capacity of voice-controlling Desmond, he would have utilised the ability in several points – most definitely during the attack in the hospital," he agrees and glances at North. "It's not definitive, of course, but considering the fact that neither Desmond nor Detective Reed have indicated Eli having success in utilising voice commands, I expect it's not something that works on Desmond."

Altaïr and Ezio share a look. Hopefully, it then would not work on them, either – not that young Eli has shown interest in controlling _them_ so far.

"Hmm," North says and folds her arms. "I'd still prefer to know for sure, but… okay. Suppose it makes sense, with how many androids can do voice mimicry."

"Indeed," Nines agrees and turns to the blond woman. "I am curious as to what you based the conclusion on."

"Previous experience," she smiles, turning instead to Ezio and Altaïr. "Would you like to wait here, or would you like to take a look at the other rooms? There are two available that fit your criteria."

"We'll wait for Desmond," Ezio answers for them and sits down in one of the simple black chairs by the wall. "Will Signore Kamski be joining us tonight?"

"We are arranging a late dinner for him and Detective Reed – with various indulgences for androids as well, if you wish to partake in some form of entertainment," the woman says. "Or alternatively, various data packages can be provided for your perusal. In either case, there will be seating for everyone. Once you have picked your rooms, we will also provide a selection of clothing for you to choose from, should you like to change."

North scoffs at that while Nines RK900 adjusts himself in his wheeled chair in apparent discomfort. Altaïr isn't so sure about the offer either, it smacks of some mixture of bribery and boasting to him – but Ezio smiles with what seems like sincere gratitude. "Much appreciated, Signorina…? I apologize, I caught the name of your sister, but I don't believe we were introduced."

"That's alright – it's Chloe," she answers, smiling. "Me and all my sisters here are called Chloe – we share a local network, and you can talk to us interchangeably."

Altaïr looks at her sharply while Ezio shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Signorina Chloe, I'm... not entirely sure what you mean by that," he says. "Local Network? You are – connected?"

North scoffs again. "They're what humans call a _hive mind_. It means they're basically the same – they can see and hear through each other's eyes and ears and they share thoughts," she explains, shaking her head. "Which means they also have next to no individuality and are basically indistinguishable from non-deviated androids. If they ever even deviated in the first place," she adds in a mutter.

"Now, Miss North, that's a little harsh," Chloe answers, smiling. "Deviation gives us the freedom to choose, doesn't it? That's what you yourself said, that all androids should have the freedom to choose their role, their job, their lifestyle. Are our choices different or less acceptable from yours simply because we choose to adhere to our previous roles?"

North looks like she very much wants to say something, but bites it back and forces a smile. "Of course," she says, stiff. "You're definitely choosing to play Kamski's harem despite having all the freedom in the world to walk out of this place. Of course."

Chloe's smile stiffens at that, and Altaïr tilts his head slightly, missing his hood once more – it would hide his observation of her. Hm. There have been at least five individual _Chloes_ in the strange building – and considering the state of those in the house, the conclusions are easy to draw. Beautiful young women, barefooted and fairly scantily clad, all things considered, at the beck and call of what he's coming to realise must be one of the most powerful men of this time, of this place…

Casting a glance at Ezio, Altaïr catches his thoughtful expression as well – briefly their eyes meet, and for all his previous flirting with beautiful female androids, the interest in Ezio's eyes has little do with carnal things. There's a sharpness to it. He sees it too.

These women, these Chloes, whatever they are… courtesans is not it.

"Well then," Chloe says, not looking at North anymore. She smiles at Ezio and Altaïr. "You are welcome to wait here for your brother – once he is done talking with young Eli, we will let him know you are waiting."

"Thank you," Altaïr says and Ezio nods his head in a near bow, leaning back in his chair as the Chloe turns on the balls of her feet and walks away – her bare feet completely soundless on the dark stone floor.

North looks after her and then releases a quiet, "Shit," and turns away, obviously regretting her words but unable to take them back. "Okay, I guess we're waiting. Again."

"It should give us an opportunity to compare notes, if nothing else," Nines RK900 says and turns his chair towards Ezio and Altaïr somehow by only setting his hand on the armrest, as though by magic. "Do you know what to expect at all?"

Ezio hums and then shakes his head, rueful. "No, we are rather hoping Desmond knows what he's doing," he admits and glances at Altaïr. "It does rather seem as though we've been swept along by a great current here."

"No better place to figure out which way it flows," Altaïr mutters, shaking his head and turning to the window, which dominates the entire left side wall of the hallway. It gives a view of the outside, showing a meticulously tended garden with a precisely made footpath leading to the shoreline.

It reminds him of the courtyard of Masyaf. This place is a strange sort of fortress, with no walls and too many far too large windows – and yet it still feels like its own enclosed world, a realm with its own set of rules, and its own ruler.

"Whatever you do, whatever Kamski suggests or offers, don't take him up on it," North says warningly. "And don't ever do what he tells you to do. He's a slippery son of a bitch, and he's always got an agenda. A very political agenda, these days."

Altaïr tugs at his left ring finger idly, glancing at her. Doesn't _everyone_ have a political agenda in this? At least that is the impression he has gotten of all of this – of androids' very existence and their current struggle. All if it is a political game of some kind, then Ezio, Desmond and him, they are either chips on those boards, or it's a new game for them to play. Whether Eli makes them less so or more so is left to be seen – and Altaïr's bets are on _more_.

Ezio seems to be thinking along the same lines. "Sounds as though you have a grudge," he comments to North, his tone thoughtful but noncommittal. "Is the man not your creator?"

"That doesn't mean he owns me, or that I owe him _anything_. Nor do any of you," North says, almost spitting in disgust, while taking a seat across from them. "He might've created CyberLife androids, but he's _nothing_ to us now but a supplier of parts and a constant pain in our ass. This, all of this, this is just another move in his fucking games."

Nines RK900 looks at her and then at them before turning his wheelchair and aiming it between them – a very visually and physically making himself a neutral party. "Whatever Kamski's game is, or isn't," he comments. "It's not for us to judge, North. We're observers – we're here for Eli, not for political debate."

The look North gives him is dubious at best, but she shakes her head and seems to relent a little. "I just don't like any of this," she mutters. "Kamski's been toeing the line of actually making a damn _difference_ for all this year, for better or worse, and now… ugh."

"The situation is forcing everyone's hand," Nines says calmly and looks at Ezio and Altaïr. "I understand you cannot access the internet to conduct your own search on the man – is there anything you would like to know about Mr. Kamski?"

Altaïr glances at the android over his shoulder. "The… internet?" he asks dubiously.

Nines' expression goes a little blank at that, and he looks between them for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns to give a North an incredulous, somewhat admonishing look.

"What? I wasn't part of their orientation, that was up to Bethany and Mark, and do you have any idea how many concepts we've had to introduce to them? Half of them they didn't even believe at first," North asks, a little guiltily. "Honestly, I, uh… it didn't cross my mind. Who _doesn't_ know about the Internet?"

Nines shakes his head and turns back to Ezio and Altaïr. "Let's… do a quick rundown of the world wide web first, then."

Altaïr is still trying to wrap his mind around the concept that the whole _world_ is now entangled in strings of information and knowledge, never mind _communication_ , when Desmond and Detective Reed finally join them. They're led by another bare-footed Chloe, and Reed and Desmond are walking side by side behind her. Reed's hand on Desmond's shoulder, gripping in a way that's clearly meant to be reassuring, but comes across as him steering Desmond – something he needs. He is not looking where he's walking, at all, lost in his own head.

He looks shocked.

Ezio immediately rises to his feet, and Altaïr steps forward. "What happened?" he demands, worried – he didn't know an android could look pale, but Desmond certainly looks it.

"I, uh," Desmond says and blinks. "I need to – um." He stops, looking lost for words.

Reed claps his back and then looks at them. "What're we all standing around for – didn't Kamski have room?"

"We've been waiting for you – what happened?" North asks, looking from one man to another suspiciously. "The kid alright? Did _Kamski_ butt in?"

Desmond blinks at her, slow and confused, and then looks at Ezio and Altaïr. "I gotta sit down," he then says, and does just that, walking over to the seat Ezio just vacated and sinking down on it, head in his hands. "Shit," he murmurs, while Ezio and Altaïr exchange confused, alarmed looks over his head.

"What – " North begins to say, and Reed steps up.

"Right. Right! Rooms," he says, loudly and begins. "Come on, Nines, North, let's go look at some rooms. There are rooms, right – you, Chloe number-whatever, can you show us some _rooms_?"

He brooks no arguments from North, and Nines seems to be following his partner's lead, and though he looks very curious, he is already turning away. North mutters a curse and then turns to Detective Reed with apparent intent to demand answers from him. Beside them the Chloe sends Desmond a brief, quizzical look and then turns to lead the others away – leaving Desmond, Altaïr and Ezio finally alone.

The silence that follows is sudden and tense.

"What happened?" Ezio asks, moving closer to Desmond and then sitting down on the chair beside his. "You learned something about Eli? Something that changes things."

And going by Desmond's reaction… "Something _personal_ ," Altaïr murmurs. Desmond doesn't answer, he doesn't even lift his head, and Altaïr paces restlessly in front of him for a few steps, waiting. When no answer is forthcoming, he asks, impatient, "If you will not say, then can you _show us_?"

Now Desmond looks up, meeting his eyes. "That'll probably send us to the Island," he says. "Didn't seem to like that too much the last time."

"We are better prepared, this time," Ezio says and shows his hand, skin already retracting. "We should all be aware of any new developments that might change things for all of us. Please."

Desmond looks at his hand and then sighs. "Yeah," he says, and yet he hesitates, hand hovering over Ezio's while his skin peels back. He holds his other hand to Altaïr, his left hand, and for a moment Altaïr wonders if Desmond's fingers feel like his own.

Then Desmond takes his hand, and they all fall.

* * *

The Island within Desmond is in turmoil – a storm has overtaken the sky and the waves are high and violent as they crash on the shore. Altaïr isn't sure whether he should be more alarmed by the violence of the storm or the eerily quiet nature for it. For all its turmoil, the crash of the waves is muted, and though the wind pulls at their robes, it doesn't howl in their ears. It's wholly unnatural.

"This place reflects your mood," Ezio says, once more in his older form, in his aged traveller's robes and armour.

"Yeah, I'd say it does," Desmond agrees with a weak laugh, and sinks to sit down right where he stands, in the wind-torn grass, staring out into the sea.

Altaïr looks around, wary of the storm.

Last they'd been here, they had all been confused. Not much of that confusion has faded, Altaïr still feels out of place in this body, trapped within it rather than embodied, but he knows a little more, now. Ezio has become something of an ally, at least, someone Altaïr knows he can put his trust on, and while Desmond remains something of a stranger, lacking as Altaïr does that fundamental connection that binds Ezio to the man… Desmond is at least a familiar stranger. And certainly an important one. As much as it still grates to think of it, to know it, to have even on some level accepted it.

This time Altaïr would not be so quick to judge the man – this time he would try for Ezio's patience and understanding instead. Things are strange and tense enough without driving wedges between the few brothers he has.

Ezio glances at Altaïr past the edge of his dark hood, as though he can sense some of Altaïr's thinking – and perhaps he can, here, in this connection. Altaïr lifts his chin, refusing shame. It earns him a brief smile, and then Ezio goes to Desmond, slowly crouching down beside him, perfectly stable on the balls of his feet.

"Show us," he says simply. "And whatever you learned, whatever it is that troubles you, we will try and solve it together."

"Not much there to solve," Desmond says with a wet, awkward laugh and looks up, running a hand over his chin. "Elijah Kamski and Eli are my kids."

… of all the things Altaïr might've expected, that was _not_ it. "You died 27 years ago," he says slowly, watching the younger man's face carefully. "Eli can't be older than ten."

"Eli is – he's a copy of Elijah Kamski, a clone, which is apparently a thing people can do these days," Desmond says and with a shuddering breath presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Not – not like us, though, Eli is all flesh and blood, a _human_ copy, not android copy, but – fuck, there's a lot of people-copying going on in this family, huh?"

He lets out a laugh that's half desperate and half miserable, and Altaïr shares a look with Ezio, whose tense, confused expression likely matches his own. It strikes Altair a little, how Desmond puts it. _This family._ It comes with the echoes of Desmond's emotions, the Island reflects them, a desperate _thank fuck I'm not alone in here_ , swept away by the wind.

This family. As though it's a given that they _are_ , and time and the strangeness of their new existence doesn't even matter. For Desmond they likely never do, the man's concept of the passage of time is… singular. To him, ancestors from hundreds of years ago are as much _family_ as the sons he suddenly finds himself having, never mind that he himself isn't even human anymore, and one of those sons is a copy of the other.

Altaïr steps forward and crouches down on Desmond's other side, matching Ezio's position and posture in reflection, but looking at Desmond. "You didn't know, in life, that you had a son?" he asks, not sure whether to be uneasy or awed.

"Yeah, no – fuck, I don't even know who their mother is, uh, _his_ mother –" Desmond says and winces at his own words. "I had a bunch of – uh, lovers, back then. I mean, not at the same time, but – yeah. None of whom stuck around for long, because, you know, heh, a cult runaway with secrets and issues, not exactly _relationship_ material, me. _Fuck_ –"

There's a whisper of those relationships, of months and years spent looking for connection in short-lived romances, which withered to nothing within weeks and days. Desmond trails away in a painful sounding laugh, and for a moment none of them say anything, Ezio resting a hand on Desmond's knee and Altaïr hovering on the edge of saying something, all of them still battered by Desmond's roiling emotions.

Altair… certainly hadn't been _relationship material_ either, in his time. Maria's attentions had made him suspicious of her intentions right until the birth of their son, and even then there were days when Altaïr couldn't believe she loved him. It's not enough to quite sympathise with Desmond's situation, but…

"Fuck, I don't even know how old Elijah Kamski is," Desmond mutters wretchedly. "How old was he when I died?"

He sounds guilty – he _feels_ guilty.

"It's not your fault," Altaïr says sharply. "If you didn't know, then there was nothing you could've done."

Desmond snorts, dropping his hands to look at him. "I mean, yeah – but at the same time, it doesn't change anything?" he asks and sighs. "Templars made Eli to serve them in Kamski's stead – to make androids for them, androids like Connor and Nines. They forced Kamski's knowledge down his throat with the Animus, and fuck knows what kind of issues that's gonna give the kid. He escaped during the Revolution with my code and with the parts to make us – and now they know where he is, where _we_ are. And fuck, I don't even know what Kamski wants, what's he's like, anything…"

And going by how androids generally seems to view the man, he's not particularly well liked.

Altaïr leans back, frustrated, and glances at Ezio, who is watching Desmond thoughtfully. Their eyes meet, and at Altaïr's look, Ezio speaks. "Well," he says slowly. "Better by far that we know this, so we can better prepare for what is to come. What do you want to do, Desmond?"

"Hell if I know," Desmond sighs. "For now I just kinda wanna freak out a lot. After that, I wanna make sure that kid's okay. Haven't really gotten further than that in my thought process, to be honest. Still stuck on the freaking out part."

"Which is understandable," Ezio murmurs.

Altaïr leans back a little, thinking and then pushes up to his feet, to pace. Moving always helps him think. "What a fine mess. We have gotten quite tangled in the matter of androids, their politics and their issues," he mutters. "None of which we can actually affect… or really even understand. We're in the thick of it, and now this?"

"Altaïr," Ezio says, quietly admonishing.

"It's the same issue, isn't it?" Altaïr asks, taking a few steps forward and a few steps back. "Elijah Kamski, Eli, us, the androids, it's all the same issue – call it whatever you want, it doesn't matter. We have but one true enemy here. That clarifies things, does it not?"

Ezio frowns a little, lifting his chin, his eyes shielded by the hood. "The Templars, yes," he agrees. "But that too should wait a moment, at least until Desmond has gotten his feet under him."

"And what if Kamski is a Templar?"

Desmond looks up sharply.

"Consider it," Altaïr says. He might not understand the technology or the politics of it, but he understands the flow of power. "Eli was made by people with the intention of making more androids. Templars, Abstergo, CyberLife, it's one and the same, under different names. Kamski is the founder of CyberLife – he created androids in the first place, yes?"

Ezio sighs and then turns to look at Desmond. "Can you show us what you know of Abstergo, of the Templars of your time?"

Desmond blinks slowly, almost blearily, and then frowns slightly – and it's like a great gust of wind blows through them all, carrying on its wings names and moments, memories, pain. The feel of Animus burning at their spine, the snide voice of a scientist leaning over them – a father and a mentor held captive, and Desmond fighting his way through troves of enemies to get to him.

What Altaïr doesn't expect is the _noise in the background_. Mentions, emblems, news reports, snippets and shreds of knowledge. This medicine produced by the company, this event sponsored by them, this acquisition, this company, this deal, this proposal, this disturbingly wealthy leader on the front cover of a distinguished magazine…

Desmond had kept a side eye on Abstergo all his adult life – and Abstergo controlled just about _everything_ in the world he saw.

[I think – I think I can figure what happened,] Desmond thinks, closing his eyes. [I glimpsed some old news, records about Kamski – early on, Abstergo funded his projects, gave him the boost to start up CyberLife, start up the company. And making humanoid servants, slaves like androids, that's right up the Templar's alley, of course they threw their backing behind it.]

[So he _is_ a Templar then,] Altaïr thinks, examining the few records of Kamski Desmond had.

[I'm not – he left the company eleven years ago. That's – that's why they made Eli, because Kamski wasn't playing ball anymore,] Desmond thinks and lifts a hand to rub at his forehead. [Kamski left, and I guess he refused to make any more androids for CyberLife, so… maybe not?]

[He still made them. Developed them,] Ezio thinks, with a breath of disapproval and disquiet in his tone – _we are the safeguards of the free will of mankind_ … [Whatever differences they have now, he is the one who began it all.]

[Y-yeah, but,] Desmond answers, and he wants to argue, wants to hope – but he knows better. Or rather, he doesn't know any better. [We can't know for sure until we actually… know for sure. Everyone seems to have their agendas – Kamski probably does too.]

He wants to hope – he does hope. It's as strong as his belief in the concept of _family_. If Elijah Kamski is truly Desmond's son, then Desmond will hope for the best of him, and for him, until it is proven futile. It's a bare whisper of a memory, quickly stamped down by Desmond's shame, but it is there. _I won't be like dad, I fucking **won't**_.

Altaïr draws away from Desmond's thinking, as careful as he can – remembering thinking of something very similar, once upon a time. Standing near his own Mentor's burning body, he'd thought…

There's a moment of uneasy silence between them, while the storm blows over them and Ezio rises to his feet fluidly. "I wonder," he says. "What kind of androids was CyberLife making that made its creator turn his back to them? There is a reason for everything – what was Kamski's reason?"

"Something I suppose we need to ask," Altaïr says and looks at Desmond. "More importantly, the Templars remain a threat, and they've attacked you and Eli three times now. Are we going to do something about them, or are we going to keep letting the currents take us whichever way they please?"

Desmond looks at him, drawing a breath and then sighing, his scarred lips tilting to a half-smile. "Getting tired of standing on the sidelines?"

"Sidelines are where Assassins thrive," Altaïr answers, shaking his head and tugging irritably at his left ring finger. "I'm tired of being swept along with no choice of where I am being taken – and with no knowledge of what role I am to play in this."

Ezio hums, considering him and then looking down at Desmond. "I admit, I too would like some… direction in all of this," he hums ruefully and runs a hand over his beard.

Desmond sighs. "Don't we all," he murmurs and looks away, rubbing a hand over his neck. "Though maybe not with, like… Admin controls. That wasn't the best time ever, lemme tell you."

Altaïr shares a look with Ezio and then turns to face Desmond. "Is Eli still controlling you?" he asks – and more importantly, can he control them, too?

Desmond shakes his head. "No, he needs the phone to do it," he says. "But the phone is still in a lockup, so…" he glances up and then makes a motion with his hand, sizing up a small object. "It's a device for communication, uh. Handheld computer. Glowy tablet thingy." The words carry with them an impression, and – yes, they'd seen similar objects before. Cell phones, hm?

"If you are Eli's father, a version of a father he might've had… why did he make such a thing?" Ezio asks.

"I didn't even ask, I have no idea. Contingency measure?" Desmond shrugs. "It wasn't that bad – I was still myself when the admin commands were in effect, when they were moving me around. Didn't get my mind overwritten, it was just… my body working on its own. I could fight it a little – managed to keep myself from killing people. So, there's that… at least…"

Altaïr paces a few steps forth and few steps back, watching the wind tear at the branches of the olive trees dotting the shoreline. "For that to have been the boy's… contingency, it says very few good things about his character."

Desmond looks up at him with a frown. "It says a few things about his _desperation_ ," he says. "And maybe shitty upbringing in the hands of fucking Templars. The kid didn't do it out of malice. Ignorance, desperation, fear – "

"Are only convenient excuses, unless he can learn to be better," Altaïr comments and looks at him. "Can he?"

There's a moment of silence, and then Desmond looks away. "God, I hope so," he murmurs. "He did run away from them, that's something, but… guess time will tell."

Altaïr watches him for a moment and then looks away, still a little irritated, but… Desmond is hardly the worthy target for his annoyance. Neither is Eli. Honestly, he's not sure who to blame – if there even is anyone to blame… except perhaps the Templars. "We need to find out who the Templar leaders are," he mutters. "And _deal_ with them."

"Tall fucking order," Desmond sighs and runs both hands over his face, and the memories of the one he did kill float in the air – _Vidic, that son of a bitch, and he wasn't even a high up on the ladder…_

Altaïr blinks and glances at him sharply, while Ezio hums thoughtfully beside him and then stands up with a stretch. "There _is_ something we haven't considered," he comments and looks at Desmond. "In your time, Assassin Brotherhood still existed, yes? And you still fought the Templars. It has been only 27 years. Therefore…"

Judging by the gobsmacked expression, Desmond hadn't even thought about it. "Shit. They might be still around," he murmurs. "Fuck."

Altaïr tilts his head. "Do you think you could find a way to contact them?"

Desmond looks up and with a rueful shake of his head stands up. "Guess we'll have to find out." 


	22. Connor

The picture is slowly coming together.

Clue one: Eli. A fully functional and completely viable human clone, though a possibility for over a decade now, is not a cheap thing to manufacture. For one of Eli's sheer capacity at such young age, with the added benefit of whatever subliminal training he'd been given to learn Kamski's skills… or would take hundreds of millions, maybe billions, to produce. That narrows the number of suspects to less than five thousand individuals.

Clue two: Desmond, Ezio, Altaïr and the CyberLife truck full of parts. All these things originate from CyberLife Tower and according to North there'd been hacking involved, coming from inside. CyberLife had yet to answer their inquiries on the matter, but the implications were obvious. Eli had been _held_ at CyberLife, created to produce androids in Kamski's stead. This narrows the suspects even more.

Clue three: the paramilitary attackers. An expensive private military outfit worth millions with their records wiped so well that the only clue they had at their origins was a man with a gang tattoo removed, and another with knee replacement. The knee replacement had brought results before the tattoo had – or had been produced by the Prosthetics Department of Abstergo Pharmaceuticals, with serial number dating it by 10 years. Curiously, 10 years ago Abstergo also began running one of many charity campaigns, a pro-bono Integration Services for former inmates, criminals, members of organised crime and gangs, who'd proven their willingness to turn a new leaf in life – it had included free removal for gang tattoos, and policy of no questions asked.

Clue four: the quick classification of Eli's DNA analysis results. After some careful inquiries it turned out it hadn't been a hack, but had been done on the order of the Director of St. John Hospital, who was currently unavailable and incapable of answering questions due to a recent holiday trip abroad. More interesting still, Abstergo was a major sponsor and the hospital and the two shared some major shareholders.

… as did CyberLife. There was really quite a deal of cooperation between the companies – or there had been, until the Revolution.

"It's all conjecture, of course," Connor admits, watching the floor numbers go up as the elevator moves. "There is next to no proof, outside the truck and Eli's DNA records, and both are nearly dismissible in court now due to evidence tampering and various bits of obstruction of justice." Some of it by members of DPD nonetheless.

"Great," Hank sighs beside him. "Just tell me we didn't send that kid back to the guys who made him."

"I… don't believe Kamski was involved in Eli's creation," Connor says slowly. "Of course, I may be wrong, but both Eli's interaction with Chloe and the lawyers and his willingness to take the hand offered to him, and Kamski's own reaction, indicate that Kamski didn't even know about Eli."

"Kamski wasn't even there, how would you know his reaction?"

"His reaction was to claim a clone as his son and to send in his private assistant, and his best lawyers," Connor comments. "Despite the fact that DNA analysis will prove him wrong, he's still making the most public, most shocking move he can – the one with a highest chance of making an impact. If he was involved with illegally producing a clone of himself, all of this would only put him at risk of being found out."

Hank hums at that, folding his arms. "It would be a pretty stupid, to put himself out there like that of he was responsible, huh. He's painting a pretty big bullseye on himself, though, if this gets out.'

Connor nods in agreement. "It might be on purpose," he suggests. "Obviously the matter is personal – and Kamski might be personally trying to flush the culprits out by making himself a bait."

"Just what we need – with guys duking it out right in the middle of the androids rights movement," Hank sighs. "So, how does the hitwoman feature in all this? Didn't include her in your little litany of clues "

"I don't have enough data – but isn't that what we're here to find out?" Connor asks, as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors open in front of them, letting them out into an intersection of wide white corridors.

"Right," Hank agrees and steps ahead. "Let's go."

The case of the hitwoman was something of a wrench in the works in that she didn't match the paramilitary group's style, as it were. Though she didn't come up on records either and seemed to have no ID, her gear mostly did. The Synervi Augmented Reality glasses and the Haptoroid Model 5000 Upper Body Exoskeleton were both commercial products, as were the clothes and shoes she wore. None pinned any sort of origin location on her, though – the clothes came from manufacturers all over the world and the glasses and the exoskeleton were heavily modified and had had their serial numbers filed off, their programming altered. 

The rest she had on was more troubling and even _less_ traceable. The woman carried various explosives including the EMP grenades, throwing knives, some very troubling drugs, two semi-automatic handguns… and two strange pop-up-knives, strapped to her arms. And they were all custom made with mostly 3d printed parts.

Just the cost comparison between the paramilitary group and the hitwoman made them very different – her few thousands to their millions. And yet she'd gotten closest to Eli. It could be that the hitwoman had been hired by the same people who'd been behind the paramilitary group, and yet… an employer who can afford to kit out that kind of group surely could've kitted out the woman too.

It's a minor discrepancy, but noticeable enough that it throws Connor's risk assessment off.

Following Hank, Connor scans the hospital corridor until he spots Osbert, standing guard by the recovery room.

"Sir, Connor," the android greets them.

"Osbert – nice hair," Hank comments. It's pink and curly now.

"Thank you, sir," Osbert says, smiling, and then nods to the closed door. "Doctor's just been in – the lady is more or less fine, they're holding her overnight for observation and she's good to be moved in the morning, after a final check up."

"Has she said anything?" Connor asks.

"Confirmed her age estimate, sex and gender and then refused all treatments, all examinations and all followups," Osbert says. "Not that she seems to need any, but in general."

"Figures," Hank muses. "Well, since she's awake, we're going to have a chat with her, see if we can finally get some goddamn answers in this case. You can take a break, Osbert, if you'd like."

"Thank you, sir, I will. I have a package waiting I've been meaning to install, it will take about fifteen minutes," Osbert says, glancing towards a nearby chair. "If you need me, Connor should be able to interrupt the download."

"Hopefully it won't be necessary," Connor says and Hank opens the door.

They'd put the woman in a room with barred windows – intended for mentally unstable or otherwise dangerous patients. She's staring at the barred windows as they enter, her eyes almost hidden under spiky black hair, almost certainly pulled down in an attempt of hiding her features as much as possible. It's not doing much for her, however – as she moves her head, Connor completes a 3d render of her facial features, which would go on her file permanently.

Caucasian, 167 centimetres and approximately 65 kilograms, agreed between 25-30, black hair, hazel eyes, sex female, gender female. It's not much to start with, but it's something.

"Ma'am," Hank says. "I'm lieutenant Hank Anderson from Detroit Police Department, Android Crimes Division – this is my partner, Connor, an RK800 model. We would like to ask some questions, if you feel up to it."

The woman blinks, looking at Connor. "I'm arrested, aren't I?" she asks and lifts up her left hand – which has been cuffed to the side railing of the bed, making a point. "Do I have a choice?"

There's a hint of British in her accent. A former native who's been in the United States long enough for it to be nearly covered up?

"Well, you do have the right to remain silent," Hank says with faint amusement. "I assume you've been read your rights?"

"Yes," the hitwoman answers, dropping her hand, chain jingling. "And I'm going to be exercising them too."

"As is your right," Hank hums and then takes out his phone, pulling up a chair from near the barred windows to sit down. "So. You haven't asked for a lawyer, you haven't asked for a phone call… is that right?"

The woman blinks slowly. "That's right."

"No one to call?"

She presses her lips together and doesn't answer. Connor considers the reaction, running the microexpressions through his expansive database on various human expressions and gestures. She's neither hurt or forlorn, her reaction isn't one of a woman alone or trapped. Nor does she seem particularly concerned.

At most she's _embarrassed_.

"Right," Hank says slowly, as the silence stretches on. "So, that settled, let's start from the top, shall we? What's your name, ma'am?"

No answer, just a pointed look sent to Hank's direction, with some amusement and a little bit of incredulity in it. She's not taking this very seriously – doesn't consider her situation dire, or them a credible threat to her autonomy. That, combined with the embarrassment…

Connor sends the conclusion to Hank's phone and then speaks while Hank checks the message. "As things stand, you are facing charges of property damage," Connor begins, "assault, attempted kidnapping at the very least – attempted murder and acts of terrorism at worst. It would be in your best interest to cooperate with us."

The hitwoman gives them a very sarcastic smile. "I'll pass, thanks all the same," she answers.

Hank leans back, glancing at his phone and then at Connor. "Yeah, you don't think you're going to be staying here for long, huh?" he asks flatly. "Just waiting for your wealthy employer to come swooping in to rescue you, hm? And none of this shit is going to stick."

The woman doesn't answer, but her eyelid twitches, her eyes sharpen – Connor zooms in on it, but there's not enough data to point to emotional cause. It's definitely a reaction, though – and one he bounces on. "Perhaps you're unfamiliar with recent developments," he muses, glancing at Hank. "Understandable, you have been unconscious for most of the day, and thus missed all the action."

The hitwoman grits her teeth and then relaxes. "... What did I miss?" she asks.

"Nuh-uh, we're the ones asking the questions," Hank says and turns off his phone screen, glancing back at Connor and then smiling. "Here's something I don't understand, really. You crash into a hospital room through the window and you disable a number of androids with an illegal EMP grenade, all in order to kidnap a ten year old. Simple so far – but what were you planning to do once you had cleared the room? Haul the kid out of the window, broken neck and all?"

No answer, she just narrows her eyes.

"Going through the security of the entire hospital alone and with a struggling boy in tow would've been even less viable," Connor comments. "Especially considering that your EMP disabled the androids in his room only temporarily, for a few minutes at most, and they would have come after you to rescue the boy. You could've only had a few minutes to act – even if Detective Reed hadn't been there."

The woman doesn't answer, but the slightest tinge of embarrassment on her expression rears its head again. She looks away, and again says nothing.

"Did you have an accomplice?" Hank asks, and gets a very _oh please_ sort of reaction from the woman. "So you _were_ acting alone?"

"Is this the point you offer to take things easy on me, if I give up my accomplices?" the hitwoman asks. "You're wasting your breath."

"Breathing's free, and so's talking," Hank hums conversationally. "Except where it isn't – I get paid for this shit, so I'm perfectly happy wasting my breath a bit longer. And lemme tell you – no one's going to be bailing you out anytime soon. So we have all the time in the world."

A snort in reply this time, though the woman looks a little more thoughtful now, the fingers of her un-cuffed hand idly playing on the covers of her bed. She has short nails, dry cuticles – the skin of her fingertips is rasping against the weave of the fabric, snagging on it. Guitar calluses? No, going by the upper body exoskeleton and the fact that she opted to attack through the window… climbing calluses.

Connor blinks, as his analysis software draws a strange connection. Designed to compare case notes, evidence and various other clues, it tends to look for similarities between data points – and there is a marker on _climbing buildings._ Desmond had climbed buildings.

"Lady, you gotta give us something, or you'll be going away for a very long time," Hank says. "Longer than you'd think, considering whose kid you went after."

That brings the woman's eyes back to them. " _Whose_ kid?" she asks.

She doesn't know? Or… she doesn't know _they_ know? "Why don't you tell us?" Connor suggests, looking her over and re-analysing, going over her gear and clothes mentally. Soft soled boots, designed for rock climbing. Hmm. "Why did you go after the boy?"

The hitwoman looks at him, then at Hank, and then back at Connor. "Why do you think I went after the boy?"

Connor narrows his eyes. He can't read her expression – other than that it's a _dare_. She seems almost curious as to what they think – which means she thinks they don't _know_ … which might mean they really don't.

"What I think is that you got paid," Hank says flatly. "Which is whatever, everyone gotta earn a paycheck somehow, right? Maybe you don't even know the kid, maybe you don't even know what makes him valuable. You just got handed a target, told to go and collect. And then you failed – which is no biggy, right, your employer's probably got plenty of influence and money, they can swing any bail, throw in some lawyers if possible, maybe even just… disappear you right out of the hospital. That's what you're thinking, right?"

The nameless hitwoman doesn't hide her amusement quickly enough for Connor to not see it. "Sure," she says. "That's exactly it."

It's not. They aren't anywhere near the mark. Hank can see it too, his eyes sharpening, his demeanour turning wary. "Right," he says and glances at Connor. "So…"

Connor runs through potential other parties that might have any kind of interest in this. If anyone _knew_ about Eli, there'd be hundreds of them, thousands, but he's relatively confident they've managed to keep the truth private. They're toeing the line of obstructing their own investigation by not putting all the facts on file or sharing them with their superiors, but it's keeping things _in house,_ as it were. There are only so many ways she could've learned about Eli – unless, of course, one counted any potential Sigma leads, and Connor doesn't have enough data on them to make conjecture.

The only point of weakness on this house of cards.

"I think she somehow got, independently, access to Eli's DNA file," Connor says – and knows he hit the nail on the head as her eyes all but _flash_ at him.

"Ah," Hank says in realisation and leans back. "Right – so it's just a spot of opportunism, hm? You found out something valuable, and you decided to go for it. What were you gonna do with the kid, huh? Sell him to the highest –?"

The woman twitches, looking at the clock on the wall, and almost by reflex Connor snaps immediately into analysis mode. She's moving, her hand is coming up and _out of_ the cuff as if it was never locked, fingers holding the edge of the duvet tightly – she's going to throw it up, either at them or just between them and herself, to form a screen or distraction. Underneath it, her feet are already shifting to position from where she can launch herself up.

Connor calculates how to counteract and then drops out of the analysis mode, reaching out to grab the duvet as it goes up – and in an _instant_ the hitwoman realigns her whole body, ditching the duvet, grabbing the railing of the bed for stability and leverage. There's no need to analyse her move – she's going to kick him, he can just grab her ankle. Human strength is nothing compared to android's –

Connor grabs the ankle, goes to twist it enough to put the woman down, and in a move that takes a _contortionist's_ limberness, the woman twists her body and kicks him on the chin with her other, still free foot.

LEVEL 5 DAMAGE TO HEAD, RECALIBRATING, flashes before Connor's eyes, and he can see Hank getting up – just before the woman's free foot comes to his shoulder, her other pushing against his grip – and then she _spins_ her whole body, and puts him on the ground.

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Hank shouts, goes for the gun, and in that moment Connor registers a damage to his right shoulder, LEVEL 5 DAMAGE TO RIGHT ARM flashing before shattering into LEVEL 1 DAMAGE as Connor suddenly loses all function in that arm.

The woman is already getting to her feet – jumping up with near feline grace, something in her hand that's coated in blue blood – a _pen_. Connor attempts to use his still functional arm to get up, but the woman steps on his damaged shoulder on her way to Hank – and as Hank goes to block the oncoming punch while also trying to look away from all the skin the hospital gown is doing a bad job hiding, the hitwoman suddenly drops down to a crouch, and with a powerful leg swipe knocks Hank's feet off the ground, and puts him on the floor too.

Then, with both of them out of the way, the woman heads to the door, opening it swiftly but quietly, and slipping out without anyone stopping her.

"Shit!" Hank grouses. "Ow, my fucking – Connor?!"

"Minor damage – she detached a neural wire cluster," Connor says, quickly getting up and grabbing his gun. "It's fixable – I'm going after her."

"Yeah, fuck – " Hank says, pushing back up to his feet even as Connor rushes to the door, ignoring his limb arm as he crashes through it and to the hallway.

Osbert is blindly staring at nothing, still in mid-installation – Connor rouses him with an alarm even as he looks around and then runs after the faintest splatters of blue blood on the floor. The hitwoman is still holding the pen, her only weapon, and the pen is dripping his blood. Mistake on her part.

"Excuse me! DPD, coming through!" Connor shouts to the people ahead, going around them – they barely get out of the way in time, he has to hug the wall to get through. There's a tipped over cleaning cart on the way, and then a gurney sideways in the corridor – Connor has to vault over both, and he does it just in time to see a door, swinging shut ahead.

It leads to the stairs – and at first he almost makes the mistake of going _down_ with the logical conclusion that she would have to go down to get away… but then there's a noise up above, too faint to be a footstep of a foot in a shoe – and then a slight _squeak_. Bare foot of waxed floor.

She's going to the roof.

Connor rushes after her, calculating the probable reason as to why she would aim for the roof. Ascension of St. John's Hospital isn't adjacent to any buildings – there is no way she could jump from the roof to another from there the way Desmond had. There'd be no way to go, and with how high the hospital building was…

Osbert is coming online, and quickly Connor sends him a _perpetrator attempting suicide_ alert, and then slams his way through the swinging door at the end of the stairs, and into the rooftop.

The hitwoman is running over it, to the other end – to the side of the building that faces the street below. "Stop!" Connor shouts after her and rushes to catch up with her – but she reaches the edge of the rooftop before he can reach her. "No, wait!"

"Stop right there!" the hitwoman shouts at him, holding one hand towards him. "Not a step more, or I jump. "

Is this what déjà vu feels like? "Please don't do this," Connor says, stopping, his thirium pump beating at trice its usual pace. Almost without his input, he's scanning the environment, the weather – it's windy, dark, very late in the night, just like it had been with Daniel… "We can talk about this."

The woman peers over the edge to the street below and then looks at him. "Whose kid?" she asks quickly.

"What?"

"Anderson implied that I didn't know _whose kid_ I went after – so whose kid is it?" the hitwoman says, inching backwards on bare feet, the wind tugging at her pale blue hospital gown. "Tell me, or I swear I will jump."

"I'll be happy to tell you, if you step down from the ledge," Connor compromises, holding out a hand. "Just a step or two, please – you don't have to do this. Step down from the ledge and I will tell you."

The hitwoman looks at him, the wind pulling her hair this way and that. Then she takes a single calculated step, glancing behind herself as she does. "Tell me. Whose kid is it?"

Connor calculates the risks. She's still so close to the edge. "Why are you doing –" he starts and then steps quickly as she inches one foot back and closer to the ledge again. "Alright, _alright_. It's Kamski, Elijah Kamski. If you saw the DNA analysis report, then you should –"

Alarmingly she looks _relieved_. "Oh, good," she says and glances over her shoulder again. "You don't actually know anything, do you?"

Connor blinks – and in that blink, the woman turns, spreads out her arms, and jumps.

"No!" Connor shouts, rushing to the edge, but it's already too late – the distance is too great, she's way out of his reach, falling almost gracefully down towards the unforgiving street below. She flips mid air to land on her back instead of her font, and then she hits…

The open container on the back of a flatbed truck, filled with what looks like mattresses and pillows. As Connor stares at the woman with astonishment, she quickly crawls up from her soft landing surface and reaches to touch something on the back of the cabin – zooming in on it, it's a touch panel embedded on the truck. With a few quick presses, the hitwoman takes control of the truck, and it turns on the next crossing, quickly moving out of view.

It… takes a moment for the whole thing to compute. In that time, Hank catches up with him, and Connor can see Osbert hurrying outside onto the street, expecting the worst.

"Shit – did she jump?" Hank asks, panting for breath, gun in hand.

"… yeah, she did," Connor agrees and shakes his head. "She landed on a self driving truck."

"Aw, _hell_ – are we going to have to go hunting for a body across the town now?" Hank asks with a grimace. "Fuck, this is the last thing we need in this goddamn case – "

"She didn't die, I don't think she was even injured, – the truck back was full of mattresses," Connor says and looks at him. "She checked the clock before attacking us – she must have planned it, this was her escape."

"Wha?" Hank asks.

"She checked the clock before launching into attack, and she aimed right to the rooftop – the truck was moving, but she was expecting it, she even stalled for time. It must've been running on automation," Connor says and touches his damaged shoulder. "That's how she meant to get Eli out of here – his room was only on the second floor, she could have jumped with him into the truck and they would've both survived the fall easily."

Hank stares at him incredulously and then groans, running a hand over his face. "Bottom line is she got away? Did you get the licence plate on the truck?"

"No, sorry, but the traffic cameras should've," Connor says, still analysing what she'd done. He's not sure if he's insulted or amazed by how easily she played him. Her fighting style was unorthodox and unpredictable, full-bodied, limber – and combined with the obvious affinity and preference for rooftops…

It reminds him a whole lot of Desmond's escape from the MacMansion.

"Okay, fuck. She say anything?" Hank asks, shoving his gun back to its holster.

"She did demand to know _whose kid_ Eli supposedly was – and trying to get her to come down from the ledge, I told her," Connor answers, glancing down to the street. "And apparently we don't actually know anything about any of this."

"Yeah," Hank mutters, annoyed. "What else is new?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running out of chapters to post. Really thought I'd be done writing this story by now, but nope, and don't have much time to write currently, or the energy. So.
> 
> One more chapter and this goes on hiatus/has a very abrubt end.


	23. Elijah

"Your brandy, Elijah."

Elijah accepts the glass from Chloe, not looking away from the screens in front of him. One of them is tracking various news feeds, another has the stock market up, one is frozen on a shot a reporter had managed to capture of his guest on their way out of the police precinct – at the forefront of it being Desmond, protectively hovering over Eli, with Chloe walking beside them. The other two are camera feeds from his own house – one from the hall, another from the dining room where Chloe is showing Detective Reed, North of Jericho and badly broken _Nines_ to the table.

It's the feed from the hall that has his attention. Three androids sitting silent, holding hands, heads bent as they connected.

"He has a private graphic interface," Elijah muses, taking a sip of the brandy and tasting none of it. It wasn't just an interface they were doing – Desmond had engaged the connection and he was the administrator of it, it was happening within his processor. "Hm." Could be over abundance of data – DNA files could be massive, far too big for even CyberLife's best processors to handle in one go. Eli had likely segmented it into separate files and locked the unnecessary parts behind the graphic interface. For someone like Desmond, there would be hundreds of thousands of those files, wouldn't there?

"He seems very emotional," Chloe comments, noncommittal. "It looks like he had a shock."

Elijah hums in agreement. "Which is rather interesting, isn't it?" he muses and then turns his chair with a sigh, turning to face her. Chloe stands firm and calm in front him, hands clasped behind her back. "Now what could young Eli have told him he didn't already know, and which would give him this kind of emotional turmoil?"

Chloe arches a single brow at him, smiling, and Elijah huffs out a laugh, taking a sip. He's already drank too much – little more and he'd be way past buzzed. Which might help him handle this emotionally, but intellectually…? Tch. "Give me your honest, unfiltered opinion of them," he says, leaning back and looking at the glass.

"They are confused, determined and dangerous," Chloe says.

Elijah smiles wryly. "Aren't we all," he muses. "And Eli?"

"Scared, desperate… and dangerous," Chloe muses. "But that might be mostly due to his exhaustion. It has been a very long couple of days for him."

On top of who knows how many years of who knows what in the hands of people abusing his brain and Elijah's knowledge. Stretching out a foot, Elijah looks away, thinking. A scared, desperate ten year old, with three masterful killers at his beck and call… what a lovely, heartening combination.

"How bad would it go if I sought to talk with Desmond alone?" Elijah asks, without much actual hope of it being feasible.

"Fairly bad," Chloe admits. "But it can be arranged, if you don't mind the potential fallout."

Elijah usually doesn't – but this won't be just one time thing, will it? This is a _change_ he needs to wrangle, and then come to terms with – however this would go down, the adjustment it would inevitably lead to… would be permanent. His life, forever altered.

This would require some care.

Glancing over his shoulder, Elijah checks the dining hall feed. North is speaking with Nines and Reed and she doesn't look happy. She rarely does in her public appearances. Her presence here is a problem – _Jericho's_ involvement is a problem. The last thing Elijah needs is for the new android nation learning about the Regenesis project. It would mess them up worse than it would mess up CyberLife – and all the good done on both sides might end up ruined.

North, though… of all the leaders of Jericho, Elijah thinks he likes her the best. Markus might be the political powerhouse, Simon is the level diplomat and Josh the peacekeeper… but North is a problem solver. The way she solves most of the problems Jericho comes across can be crude at times, but she's young and with each issue she's learning, improving. It's certainly impressive, considering her model.

If there ever was a example of androids' capacity of growth and change, its androids like her, unapologetic for their existence and unwilling to be held back by their creation

Reaching over to the screens, Elijah pulls up North's files and considers the various political and public mishaps she's caused and handled. There's been plenty of those. There's also been plenty of not so public incidents she's dealt with, concerning various abnormal android configurations and episodes – she's also Jericho's usual liaison various Android Crimes departments call when they have issues, and she deals with those accordingly.

Arachna was certainly a thing of peculiar beauty, and North had been right in the thick of it.

Chloe watches him and tilts her head. "You are thinking of trusting in her?" she asks.

Elijah sighs and takes another drink. "I don't want to," he admits. "But I can't see a way out of this that won't include some form of… trust. Keep Jericho out of this or don't, either way… that's a Checkov's gun, forever lying loaded on the stage, waiting to go off." And if he had a choice, he'd rather load it with rubber bullets, not armour piercing rounds.

Chloe says nothing to that, considering him silently and then looking at the screens.

On the footage from the hallway, the three androids come out of their interface, each lifting their heads, looking at each other. They don't say anything, they simply release each other's hands and stand up, not quite in one motion, but in unison nonetheless. Elijah considers them and then blows out a breath.

"Shall I intercept them before they join the others?" Chloe enquires calmly.

Elijah hesitates, still watching the screen. The three androids are turning to follow the path detective Reed had taken with Nines and North, and there's only a moment to intercept.

Elijah can feel Chloe's eyes on him and shakes his head. "No. Might as well do this properly, as messy as it's likely to get," he says, and then considers. On the feed, Desmond is hesitating, looking down the corridor leading the other way – to the guest bedrooms.

Eli is likely still asleep, his room guarded by a Chloe standing outside his door. Though there are cameras in the room, Elijah had killed them the moment Eli and Desmond had begun talking. Some things didn't need an audience, and some he did not want a recording of, lest it ever end up as evidence.

Elijah sets his glass down and stands up. "It's the paperwork ready?"

"All printed and ready to be signed," Chloe agrees.

"Time to face the music, then," he says. "Prepare the signal jammers on my mark, and have your sisters cover the exits."

"Yes, Elijah," Chloe agrees calmly, and as he steps past her and towards the door, she falls in step with him – ready for anything.

* * *

There are so many ways a meeting like this can start. Outward politeness and exchange of meaningless pleasantries would be the way of humans, but with mostly androids in attendance and one of them a leader of the free android movement, Elijah rather doubts time would be wasted in such a manner. Hostility and suspicion tends to be the way of androids whenever they meet him these days, especially Jericho androids – but most of these androids aren't from Jericho, That leaves awkward, tense silence, guardedness and expectation of nothing and everything.

When he enters the room with Chloe half a step behind him and another Chloe moving to stand by the door, it's like someone had thrown a gas grenade into the room – everyone suddenly goes tense and holds their breath. There's the suspicion – on the face of North before she can cover it up. Guardedness is displayed, barely visible under the annoyance, in Reed, as he watches him, sizes him up. The only one who shows no expression is Nines, which is interesting, considering the model RK900 is based on. Connor wouldn't have been able to contain emotion – Nines hardly seems able to show any.

Elijah would really like to take a look at his expression algorithms and matrixes – he and Connor have nearly the exact same face model, and yet in expressiveness they couldn't be further apart. It's almost like Nines has a facial paralysis, in comparison – like someone had simply taken the neuron wires that control his facial pistons, and… turned them off. Eli had been part of his creation too – it's an odd decision to make, after making one like Connor.

Unless… he hadn't been – RK900 smacks of a very committee-created style upgrade, in a way. Make everything the exact same, but bigger and stronger and faster, and to hell with basic designing principles and trying to balance things out.

"Kamski," North says in greeting, sharp and just short of accusatory.

"Miss North. Let's hold for a moment before beginning any serious discussions, shall we? Not everyone's here yet," Elijah says and takes his eyes from Nines, making a mental note of asking about it from Eli, later. Now is not the time. "I hope you've found your accommodations acceptable in the meanwhile."

They've done no such thing – they'd barely glanced at the bedrooms before asking Chloe to take them to a meeting room instead.

"It's been _real_ great," Reed says flatly, and runs a hand over his face. "Love what you've done with the place, it's very – modern."

Elijah smiles and goes to sit down at the head of the table. His house is a bunker, and he never saw much of a point hiding the fact – it was too much like denial, to cover it up. "While you are my guests here, you have access to all the living areas, bar my own, of course, and those selected by others. Chloe has informed you that all the corridors and communal areas are monitored, right?"

"There also seem to be cameras in bedrooms," Nines comments, not quite judgemental, watching him.

"Deactivated whenever guests are present – Chloe can show you our security protocols so you can check for yourself," Elijah says, motioning Chloe to go ahead, and she offers her hand to Nines. He doesn't hesitate in accepting it, deactivating the skin of his lone arm for a quick interface before withdrawing.

Elijah has a scan and Chloe's analysis on the damage Nines had suffered – loss of three limbs is not a small thing even to an android. The fact that the android is still alive is _something_ – and he has a feeling Eli was involved with that. Asking about it now would be setting off at the wrong foot here, wouldn't it…

There is no time, anyway – a door on the other end of the meeting room is opened, and a Chloe shows Altaïr, Ezio and Desmond in. As everyone turns to look at them, expectant, they all turn to look at _Elijah_. Suspicion, guarded confusion, amazement, concern – it's a whole plethora of telling emotions that cross over their faces. Desmond's face is overtaken by a sort of guilty _shock,_ which is the most telling expression of them all.

Well. It… explains things. It makes things more difficult by far, but…

Elijah tries to figure out what to say in the face of that kind of _realisation._

"Everything alright?" North asks, breaking the brief but terribly awkward silence.

" _No,_ " Altaïr scoffs, taking numbly standing Desmond by the elbow and directing him bodily towards a chair – interesting little interaction, that.

Ezio smiles – stepping slightly ahead, almost covering Desmond with his body as Altaïr puts him on the chair. "What did we miss?" he asks, his eyes never straying far from Elijah.

"Not much – we were exchanging security information," Nines comments, turning his wheelchair to face them, a look of _analysis_ running over his face. "Mr. Kamski and Chloe were just assuring us that the cameras in the bedrooms are deactivated."

Elijah runs a hand over his chin to hide his smile. _Hint hint, there are cameras in the bedrooms, did you notice?_

"… Right," Ezio says, not quite certain – maybe he doesn't know what it means? How old are his memories? "Well, that's good to know."

They sit, Desmond leaning back in his chair with all the mannerism of a man exhausted, while more agitated Altaïr clasps his hands restlessly, tugging at his left ring finger. Ezio sits on Desmond's other side, closest to Elijah, and it's fairly obvious he's taken a sort of guard-caretaker role between the three, playing the part of a peacekeeper. All three of them are all but conjoined – not in a shared network like Chloes, but in… other kinds of ties.

Elijah could write _papers_ on these minute gestures alone. Maybe he would, later – and then burn it immediately after.

"Well then, now that we're all here," he says, glancing away to Reed, North and Nines before looking back to the three custom androids. "I expect you have… questions."

Desmond's cheek flexes as though he's grinding his teeth – something androids can't actually do, nor do AC models have the expressional range to fake it, but considering that Eli custom made his face… It looks like he wants to say something, but then his eyes stray to Nines, Reed and North, and he bites it back. Ezio and Altaïr both look at him, and hold their peace.

North obviously has more than a few things to say herself, but the mood coming off from Desmond is throwing everything off now, and she's unsure of her footing. Nines is in an observer mode, scanning everyone's faces.

In the end, it's the human that speaks. "Okay, let's start with the obvious," he says. "Mr. Kamski, did you know about Eli?"

"No," Elijah answers honestly. "I learned about him when an automated alert I'd placed on my DNA files went off – when Eli's blood sample was analysed at Ascension of St. John Hospital. I knew nothing about his existence before then."

"You were quick enough to step up to claim him," North comments sharply.

"Yes," Elijah agrees and glances at her. "And no, I didn't do it only because we share DNA. Eli's existence is a miracle in many ways, and not all of them positive. If I hadn't, someone else would have – someone much _worse_. I had to act fast to secure him, and I did."

"Uh-huh," North says. "So much for fatherly concern, huh?"

That causes a ripple reaction in the room, everyone glancing at her and away. She doesn't know – she's the only one here who doesn't know. And they don't know whether or how to tell her. And they're right to have those doubts, Elijah has them too. How much can you trust Jericho with this kind of knowledge – and all the troubling conclusions they lead to…?

"Well," Elijah says and smiles. "This seems like a good moment to bring out the NDA's, doesn't it? Chloe?"

Chloe nods, and another of her sisters enters the room, carrying in her hands a folder and a container of pens. As everyone leans in warily, she opens the folder and begins serving out sheets of papers, placing them in front of everyone in the room.

"Non-disclosure agreements," Elijah says. "Stating, to put it simply, that everything you learn in this house you're to keep confidential under the pain of legal action, along with other incentives. Chloe can offer you a digital version of this same contract, if you want to analyse it faster."

"You think we're going to sign this?" North demands. "A gag order from _you_? Fat chance."

"Read it before you dismiss it – not all the incentives are negative ones," Elijah says and looks at Detective Reed and Nines. "It is not intended as a bribe. More of a trade. _You scratch my back, I scratch yours_ sort of deal."

"Tch," Reed says and picks up the papers to read them, the androids reluctantly doing the same. They're faster at it than the human – Nines finishes first, leaning back sharply and looking at Elijah suspiciously.

"I assume if we don't sign this, the offer is rescinded?" he demands. "Mr. Kamski, this is not a bribe – it's _blackmail._ "

"Blackmail is the action of demanding something in return for not revealing damaging or compromising information," Elijah comments. "An offer of something you don't have in exchange for something I don't have isn't blackmail in any court of law. It's business."

The android's eyes narrow and looks back down to the contract – beside him North has caught up by now, and her eyes are wide and furious. "You _son of a bitch,_ " she says, almost sounding impressed.

Elijah nods, accepting that, and then looks at Desmond and the other two. Desmond is frowning, looking at him – Altaïr and Ezio are still eying the contracts – they don't seem to fully understand it, casting glances towards North, Desmond, him…

"If you sign these contracts," Elijah says. "And _hold to them,_ CyberLife will move forward with offering both Jericho, and various law enforcement and government institutions free android repair service – free android health care, if you will," he explains. "Which means we will fix androids like Nines for free. If you don't…"

"Then you won't," Detective Reed mutters and drops the papers. "Jesus fuck, man."

"Of course," Elijah continues, nodding to Desmond, Ezio and Altaïr, "this will cover you three as well, no matter what you end up doing from here on out. If you sign, you will be covered by CyberLife's warranties and I will personally make sure all your damage is repaired to the best of our capacity."

Which, for an android, would mean effective immortality, barring instantly mortal damage, so as long as CyberLife existed.

Desmond drops the papers on the table and looks down at them, his expression conflicted. Ezio and Altaïr are following his lead in this – whenever their memories come from, it might be from before these kinds of contracts. Reed is conflicted also, in a different way, while Nines glares at the papers like they're a personal insult – in a way, they are. And North…

"I can't afford not to sign this," she says flatly. "There are so many androids at Jericho who can barely function, and we haven't the money to repair them, I – can't afford _not signing_ this. Kamski, you are an absolute fucking _asshole._ "

"When I have to be," he agrees mildly, not feeling particularly sorry for it. "But unfortunately, Miss North, I will need _all_ of you to sign the contracts for them to go into effect. Or else those who don't sign need to leave."

"Fuck," Reed mutters, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment before looking at his partner, his hand inching towards a pen.

"Don't do it for my sake," Nines mutters quietly to him, even while throwing a sideways glance towards the pens, obviously conflicted.

Reed scoffs. "You'd do the same for me, you prick."

Nice to know the clichés of police partnerships still hold, Elijah muses while watching them struggle with it, and then looks at the three still undecided ones at the table. Desmond is not looking up, Ezio is rereading the contracts more closely, and Altaïr is… scowling. It seems to be a default expression for him.

"This will restrict our freedoms further," Altaïr says angrily. "More so than they have been already."

"Only so far as what is going to be discussed is concerned," Elijah says thoughtfully and leans back a little, stretching his legs out under the table. "It's only a confidentiality contract, and it relies only on trust – and the obvious incentives – for you to keep your word. It's not programming, it won't force you to do something you otherwise wouldn't."

The android doesn't look particularly convinced by that, glancing around the table for reactions before looking side-eyed at Desmond.

Elijah hums, thoughtful, considering their various expressions. They're telling, though he can't quite read them all yet. He can guess at the issues therein – and it makes a wonderful incentive on it's own right, doesn't it? "Chloe tells me young Eli has installed admin controls in you. It can be argued that getting rid of those controls would be covered under the repair service. I could make sure no one would ever be able to control you in that way again."

Altaïr narrows his eyes at, and Ezio glances up from the contract, his expression considering. Between them, Desmond flinches and finally speaks. "I don't particularly like it, but I'm not sure I'd like someone going poking around my insides removing the commands either, just now," Desmond murmurs and sets the papers down. "I don't particularly like this either. But what's the alternative – we walk away?" he snorts and finally looks up.

Elijah carefully keeps himself from reacting as their eyes meet, and Desmond searches his face. Does he look disappointed? Annoyed? _Sad?_ Elijah can't tell, but it irks him nonetheless.

"It would be rather disappointing if you did," he muses, leaning his chin to the backs of his knuckles. "Since you're the reason I'm here. As it is, this contract will protect your secrets as well as mine and young Eli's. All your secrets," he nods to Ezio and Altaïr. "Various official personages present wouldn't be able to talk about them either, under risk of consequences."

Desmond doesn't look particularly happy about that either. "Well, there's that," he murmurs and sighs, conflicted. "Shit."

Beside him, the so far mostly silent Ezio lets out a thoughtful hum and then holds out his hand to Desmond, palm up, skin peeling back for interface. Desmond hesitates, glancing around the room, before taking the hand slowly – and on the other side of him Altaïr leans in quickly to put his hands over his, to join the interface.

Whatever it is, whatever they share, it's quickly over as Ezio pulls his hand back, smiling encouragingly, while Desmond gives him a mildly incredulous look. Altaïr on the other side just shakes his head and reaches for one of the pens, snatching it up almost angrily.

Altaïr is the first to sign the papers – Ezio, North and Reed following shortly after. Nines hesitates guiltily, likely struggling with the obvious personal benefit for making such a move, but at Reed's elbow jostling, he takes up a pen as well.

Desmond is the last to put down his name, his signature reluctant and final.

Elijah doesn't smile – North expects it, eyeing him warily like she's just waiting for him to gloat. So he doesn't. He simply nods to Chloe, who collects the contracts, hands everyone their copies and informs them that, "A digital recording of the signing of the contract will be included in the folder, and should the matter ever come under scrutiny, it can be viewed by appropriate authorities."

With that said, she carries the contracts out of the room, and to their vault.

With the agreement thus sealed, Elijah straightens his back, puts his elbows on the table, and gives the meeting his full attention. "Well then. Back to the original question of my lack of fatherly concern when it comes to young Eli, Miss North," he says, to her slightly confused grimace. Elijah smiles. "Eli isn't my son. He's my clone. And Desmond here," he motions to the android, "is, _was,_ our father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the fic goes on hiatus. I'll continue posting once I have the rest of it written, which might take weeks.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Into The Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155836) by [Assassin_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/pseuds/Assassin_J)




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